


and then, there were fireworks

by CallyDreams



Category: Gintama
Genre: Action & Romance, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Canon-Typical Violence, F/F, F/M, Future Fic, Gen, Light Angst, Love/Hate, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Mystery, Sexual Tension, With A Twist, adult!Kagura, adult!Okita, bickering as a love language, chibi!Gin-chan, chibi!Toshi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-09
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:47:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 31,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26873188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CallyDreams/pseuds/CallyDreams
Summary: In a future where things are a bit different, yet the same, Kagura and Okita meet for the first time. Needless to say, sparks fly.
Relationships: Kagura/Okita Sougo
Comments: 88
Kudos: 150





	1. stranger

**Author's Note:**

> 🔖 I’ve borrowed these lovely characters from the Gintama universe, and therefore they’ll be, in many aspects, similar to canon, but, and this is one important but: it’s a take on /most of/ them as _adults_. Kagura and Okita in particular, I believe to have developed in terms of personality; being essentially themselves, but more multifaceted. Hopefully! 💗

stranger

. . .

They meet one afternoon in early October. The smell of a new season is in the air, and the bustling city life sounds are muted by the thick yellows and oranges covering the ground; leaving a somewhat otherworldly feel to the surroundings. Like, they’re not outside a nursery playground in a very central part of Tokyo at all, but in the middle of somewhere else entirely, peaceful and far away...

It’s still hate at first sight.

“Oi, China,” says a voice right next to Kagura’s ear. _China?_ She instinctively whips around to confront me whoever threw the insult; because that’s how she must label it, coming from someone she doesn’t know. 

She starts a little when she notices the suit-clad man standing just behind her, much closer than what is commonly acceptable, but it’s not really the proximity that is bothering her. It’s rather the fact that he has managed to get so close, without her picking up on his movements. Kagura prides herself on possessing something like a sixth sense when it comes to things like that; no one has been able to sneak up on her in a very long time.

What’s more, Sadaharu keeps quiet beside her, and that’s baffling in its own right. In fact, her large dog is watching the stranger with mild interest, like he’s possibly an acquaintance of old, and Kagura would have scolded him for wagging his tail at a complete stranger like that, if she wasn’t busy glaring daggers at him herself.

“That’s not my name,” she replies, ignoring the way her pulse speeds a little courtesy of the surprise. Not because the guy’s a looker, mind. Or, he _would_ have been -- hadn’t he been wearing a face like he’d just stepped in some poop. Well, he might have. Kagura’s fairly sure Sadaharu took a dump around here, just before.

“No?” He takes a step back but he doesn’t lose the attitude, faint disgust written all over his face as he glances at her dress. “Then what’s with the qipao?”

Kagura feels a nerve twitch at her eyelid, irritation rising hot on her blood. It's not that she particularly cares about others' opinions about the way she dresses; it's rather about the way he speaks and looks at her. It just _grates_ at her nerves. 

“Why would I need to explain anything to you, Mr Tuxedo Mask?” She folds her arms over her chest, giving him a once-over. Unfortunately, he looks kind of handsome in his expensive-looking suit. Beyond the insufferably haughty look on his face, the way he stands tall and undaunted; hands stuffed in the pockets of Prussian blue trousers, and a suit jacket falling open around a white dress shirt, all of which is hugging his limbs in a way that suggests it being tailor-made -- he’s like someone straight out of a TV drama. A drama Kagura never would admit that she’s still recording, at the age of 23. _Oh, dammit._ “What do you even want?” 

“That kid,” The stranger nods in the direction of the playground behind her. “The one with the silver hair and the dead fish eyes.”

Kagura squints her eyes suspiciously, resisting the urge to turn and look for said kid.

“Yeeeees?” 

“Is he yours?”

_Sort of._

“What business is it of yours?”

“It’s my business to keep him well away from Toushirou. I don’t want him to catch anything nasty like a natural perm.”

It’s definitely hate.

Kagura’s not sure why it gets to her so much, but this shithead surely has no right to badmouth Gin-chan out of nowhere. Still, she can’t help but look over the fence to see what he’s on about, and she immediately spots the little head of distinctive silver locks under a tree, right next to another shock of hair; jet black and very tidy-looking by contrast.

This other kid, she has only seen a couple of times before, he’s new to the nursery but she _has_ noticed that he looks to be about the same age as Gin-chan; one year and a half, give or take. They are amongst the youngest children there. So, she gathers that he must be Toushirou, and that Gin-chan for some reason has taken an interest in him. Which is unusual. The toddlers are holding on to the same toy, a blue plastic car, pulling it stubbornly between each other back and forth, forth and back. It’s clear that none of them is going to give it up.

“Tch,” Kagura masks her slight surprise with a scoff as she turns back to the one who must be the Toushirou-kid’s parent, a carefully condescending look applied. “Isn’t your kid normally sucking mayonnaise from a feeding bottle? Talk about disgusting. He should be happy Gin-chan even wants to be near him.”

“He’s not--“ Suit-guy looks taken aback, possibly, Kagura can’t be sure, because it’s passing by so quickly, and she’s too irritated to care much, to perceive anything but the arrogance in his tone as he speaks again. “Mayonnaise is one of the major building blocks of good health, didn’t you know? Toushirou is gonna grow up strong and tall because of it.”

“Or terribly overweight.”

“I don’t think anyone who’s got a lazy-looking kid like that is in a position to talk. What is he, the last remnant of the Neanderthals?” 

Kagura opens her mouth to object when she sees Gin-chan letting go of the plastic car to casually smudge something, that has with the highest probability just been in his nose, into Toushirou’s V-shaped bangs.

_Oh, well._

“Pff. If your kid’s got such great genes, how come he can’t tell Gin-chan wants to become friends?”

“That’s a gross way of making friends.”

“Well, beggars can’t be choosers,” Kagura sniffs. “You should know the rules. Toshi’s the transfer student, right? If he’s lucky, Gin-chan might be his ticket to a wedgie-free life here. Didn’t you go to high school?”

Kagura might be imagining things, but she’s pretty certain she sees something awfully akin to amusement flickering by the stranger’s face as he replies.

“If this was high school, _Toshi_ wouldn’t run with the likes of fish eyes, believe me, China.”

“No,” Kagura agrees. “Because he’d be on the rooftop playing hooky and developing a lifelong addiction to nicotine. And don’t call me--“

Their bickering is intercepted by a loud cry carrying over from the playground, and they both turn to watch the small fight unfolding under the tree. Actually, ‘small’ might be an understatement, it’s just that the participants are just that, small. Toshi and Gin-chan are at each other’s throats, rolling around in a cloud of grass and rubble, struggling as fiercely as one possibly can with the aid of nothing but small fists and baby teeth. 

The blue car lies forgotten on the ground.

“Great,” Kagura sighs; then jumps, hoisting herself effortlessly over the fence. She’s with the wailing Gin-chan, who has got his hands full of black hair, within the blink of an eye. It’s when she’s about to lift him up that she sees the guy in the suit on the other side; in the exact same position as her -- hunching forward to fetch the other toddler. That, admittedly gives her pause. _  
_

_How..?_

Weirdly, Kagura’s breath catches in her throat at the realisation that _he_ was just as fast as her, getting to the spot where they are, staring at each other. She struggles to understand, but it doesn’t make sense, and then she notices the strange colour of his eyes. If she hadn’t been used to Gin-chan’s unusual red eyes by now, she might have picked it up sooner; they’re almost the same, a shade warmer perhaps; deep, inscrutable maroon. Kagura blinks, and the stranger’s eyes narrow slightly; there’s momentarily something searching in the way he watches her. Then, they snatch their champions out of the brawl, more or less simultaneously. 

That’s annoying. 

Arms securely wrapped around an uncharacteristically riled up and struggling Gin-chan, Kagura glares venom at the guy in the suit, who in turn meets her eye dead on, whatever was there before replaced with thinly veiled contempt. He’s got the little mayo freak, who’s frowning so hard that his face looks like a thundercloud, on his arm, shielding him from Kagura and Gin-chan with his body as though _they_ were the provocative variable in this equation, and Kagura’s boiling, _marvelling_ at the nerve of him. They lock eyes like that for another moment, wordless hate sparkling between them, before the presence of a certain Shimura Shinpachi, one of the nursery workers, breaks the tension.

“Uhm, excuse me? Kagura-chan? Okita-san?” he approaches warily, as though afraid to get caught in the crossfire if he gets too close. “What’s going on?”

“What’s going _on_?” Kagura sputters. “I’ll tell you what’s _going on!_ New kid attacked Gin-chan out of nowhere and this idiot did nothing to stop it!”

She points an accusing finger at the man in front of her, who apparently is known to Shinpachi as Okita-san. It's somehow making her even more annoyed. What would ever compel anyone to add “san” to this impertinent idiot’s name is beyond her.

“Toushirou attacked _him?”_ the guy named Okita sneers. “Don’t make me laugh. If anything that snot-nosed brat got what he deserved for assaulting Toushirou with his disgusting boogers.”

“Please, both of you, calm down,” Shinpachi pleads, as he looks between them. “They’re kids, surely they didn’t intend to hurt one another.”

“Say that to Gin-chan,” Kagura laments, though she already knows that he’s mostly unscathed; that’s not important. “We’re leaving. Come on, Sadaharu.”

If she’s surprised to discover that Sadaharu has calmly followed them into the playground to sit, just next to the stranger, with a look of peaceful curiosity in his round, kind eyes, she doesn’t show it. Instead, she acts on her word and turns on her heel, Gin-chan relaxing into a pouting bundle in her arms. It takes a couple of seconds before she hears Sadaharu padding after her, tail wagging like there’s something to be happy about.

There _isn’t._

~

That evening, Kagura’s kind of thankful for the comforting jogtrot of everyday life that comes with living with a toddler. There are things to do, always, and everything immediately regains a dull shimmer of normalcy as they return home and she discovers that she forgot to do the laundry, again. It’s like the afternoon’s disquieting meeting has never really happened as she gets on with her usual chores; washing up the dishes, stuffing the washing machine, feeding Sadaharu. Gin-chan wants a snack, too, he always does, but today is not the day to neglect him. She lets him have a chocolate chip cookie, and he nibbles at it smugly in a corner of the sofa while she makes dinner and tidies up around the apartment.

Their home, as it stands.

Kagura moved into the studio flat on the top floor when she first came to Tokyo, several years ago now, and she’s been renting it from the old lady running a bar downstairs ever since. Granted, it’s tiny, there’s barely enough space for herself, Gin-chan and Sadaharu; but what it lacks in width it makes up for in height. Adorned with high ceilings and tall windows, it is treating her to a breath-taking view of the city streetlights and rooftops by night, so she doesn’t mind. Also, she thinks it’s quite homely by now, being decorated to her tastes; which means _colours,_ soft cushions and green plants, everywhere. Even if it’s a little untidy at times, she’d rather have that than the clinical, minimalistic feel some people seem to covet. Besides, she’s got a dog _and_ a toddler; messiness is to be expected. 

Sadaharu is indeed too big a dog to fit into any normal space. Presently, his withers reach Kagura’s hips and she’s quite tall, at least by Japanese standards. She’s aware that she doesn’t really classify as Japanese in the eyes of many people, but she feels at home in Japan so there’s that. As for Sadaharu, she has the creeping misgiving that he keeps getting bigger, and because she got him from _home;_ she knows that might very well be the case. 

Then, there’s Gin-chan. It wasn’t like he came with any instructions, or even a name, so she had to give him one; and Gintoki, or Gin, just felt fitting. Why, because of the silver hair, naturally, and something she can’t explain, but has to do with the way he looks at her. Ever since he first appeared on her doorstep some eleven months ago -- bundled in tattered old blankets in a cardboard box, proper fairytale style -- she’s been trying to make sense of the way he sometimes seems to be gazing straight into her soul. It’s unnerving, but it also tickles her dormant abilities and in the end, it doesn’t really matter that she knows nothing about his origins or true parentage; she feels they’re connected by something deeper, and it isn’t necessarily blood. Probably.

The first days she kept expecting someone to come knock on her door and demand to have him back, to say it had all been a mistake, and that that note wasn’t really meant for her. After a couple of weeks, the notion started to make her feel very angry; the idea of someone coming to _snatch_ him from her, steadily became as unthinkable as infuriating. For the last few months, she’s come to dread it with the entirety of her being, so much, in fact, that she’s started to shut it off altogether, because even grazing the subject of what it would feel like, to lose Gin-chan now, she hurts.

In any case, there’s really no time left for her to fret. Ever since he took his first wobbly steps, Gin-chan’s been perfecting his special power; and it isn’t bankai, unfortunately. No. It’s that he can enter any relatively orderly space and turn it into complete chaos within seconds, and Kagura swears, she doesn’t understand _how_ he does it, most of the time it’s enough for her to turn her head and it has happened. 

“Is that why you’re usually so quiet, hnn?” She asks the little devil as she feeds him dinner. “So that you can save up your energy and release it all once I least expect it?” Gin-chan offers her a contemplative stare from his high chair, then grins, showing off his barely-full set of small pointy teeth; and bangs his spoon against the table, spluttering her cheeks with strawberry jam and small pieces of pancakes. 

Kagura laughs, though she knows that she should probably scold him. It’s quite alright. Being a parent ultimately isn’t as easy at it seems; nor as difficult. She can’t say that she was ever prepared for it, and she sure as hell didn’t know how much time and effort raising a toddler entailed, but neither did she know how fast one could come to love a child. Her heart, she supposes, has grown bigger and sturdier to accommodate the overwhelming emotions also known as motherly love, and in the end, she doesn’t dislike it. Nor can she imagine herself bereft of it, now.

“Bath time, is it?” she smiles as Gintoki reaches for her, and she lifts him out of the chair. A pair of sticky hands are grabbing at her braid at once and then there’s a sticky little face buried in her neck, Gin-chan’s trying to blow a raspberry and is giggling at the sounds he’s managing to make.

“I guess I’ll need a bath too, after this,” Kagura sighs, but she’s still smiling as she carries him over to the tub, places him in it, and rolls up her sleeves. Like most children, Gin-chan loves water and she lets him play around with his rubber duck in the bathing foam while pouring shampoo into his hair. Running her hands through the wet silver locks she discovers grass and dirt tangled into it, and is involuntarily reminded of the sulky-looking kid Gin-chan was fighting with, and, inevitably, the arrogant wanker in the suit.

“What’s his deal?” She mutters to herself, unable to restrain a stream of profanities to seep out under her breath, and she massages Gin-chan’s messy hair a bit harder than intended; something which earns her a small bite just above the elbow. 

“Mama,” says Gin-chan, wrinkling his forehead.

“Yes, yes, I’m sorry,” Kagura murmurs, proceeding to gently rinse the shampoo out of his hair. She can’t get the image of Suit Guy’s smug face out of her head, though. Now when he’s there, he seems intent on staying for the entirety of Gin-chan’s bedtime routine; pyjama, formula, bedtime story, sleep; and as Kagura sits watching the even rise and fall of her protege’s little chest, the last part of their brief meeting spins on repeat within her head. She sincerely hopes, for Shinpachi’s sake, that he didn’t dare apologise on her behalf. She has nothing to apologise for. _He,_ on the other hand, Okita-san or whatever, better be grovelling on the ground begging her for forgiveness the next time they meet. 

Not that she wants to meet him again. 

Ever.

~

He’s not. Grovelling, that is. It’s barely been one day since she last saw him, at the same spot; he stands leaning against the railing outside the nursery, displaying weariness perhaps but more importantly -- not a trace of regret. He turns his head as Kagura and Sadaharu approach, face saying “ _you again”,_ but nothing much else; and the autumn leaves are colouring the scene with a warmth that doesn’t match the ice chips in his eyes.

 _Seriously?_ Kagura scowls. _This is how it’s going to be?_ There’s a familiar surge of anger through her veins, quick and not at all irrational. She refuses to believe it’s coincidence that this Okita person suddenly has to come pick up his kid exactly the same time she picks up Gin-chan; he’s probably doing it purely out of spite. His entire, stupid, suit-clad, appearance says so. It’s dark grey today, very smart, impeccably fitted against his long limbs in a way Kagura can’t quite disregard, but nonetheless stand. Why, guys in suits are generally not to be trusted.

“Dickhead,” she mutters, deciding that ignoring him altogether is probably her best course of action. In fact, she thinks she deserves a pat on the shoulder for that mature kind of reasoning; it takes some real effort not to rise to the bait and dive into a pointless conversation about non-existent manners with the prick. 

Today, she’s also prepared for Sadaharu’s unaccountably friendly approach to the guy, and so grabs his collar before he’s gotten the chance to sniff Okita’s shiny shoes. She holds her head high as she marches past him through the gates, Sadaharu only struggling a little against her firm hold. Part of her is already expecting something rude to come out of the bastard’s mouth, and she’s not surprised to hear him speak; though she is at the way the words are hitting her back with an unexpected softness.

“How’s this place?”

Kagura stops in her tracks, and turns, slowly.

“What do you mean ‘this place’?” She folds her arms over her chest, giving him a suspicious look. “Shinjuku? Japan? Planet Vegeta?”

“Yeah, you’d be the person to ask about that, right? Seeing how you’ve got all the traits of a Saiyan,” Okita’s mouth quirks upward at one corner, almost invisibly, infuriatingly smooth, but he continues before Kagura has the chance to spit something sufficiently insulting back at him. “I mean this nursery, obviously. Is it any good?”

Kagura scowls. The bastard actually looks serious. His gaze is skidding away from her, a shadowy expression scrambling for cover behind the soft fall of sandy hair, and he’s suddenly intensely focused on the small playground in front of them. It’s presently empty, it’s just before 2 p.m., which means that most of the children are napping, or playing inside, before it’s time for the daily running about outdoors.

“If you’re worried about that, why didn’t you check _before_ you left your kid here?” Kagura asks, and although she intends to sound judgy about it, real wonder has the insolence to sneak its way into her tone, sounding almost like concern.

“I didn’t--” Okita pauses to give her a quick glance. “There wasn’t any time,” he says, in a manner that certainly doesn’t invite any further questions, and yet. _Yet._ Kagura doesn’t know why, she could have just taken his sudden defensiveness as a cue to shrug and leave, but something compels her to keep talking.

“It’s not good,” she sighs, coming around to lean against the railing next to Okita. He slants her a sidelong glance, a bit too sharp, and she continues before it turns into a question. “It’s fucking _great._ And so are the Shimuras. You couldn’t leave him with better people.”

“How can you be so sure?”

Kagura bites her lip, frowning. She hasn’t expected the sincere edge in Okita’s voice, like he’s desperate to know that she’s speaking the truth.

“Because I _know,”_ she stresses, turning so that she’s facing him as she speaks. “I’ve known them, Ane-- Tae and Shinpachi, since forever, or well, since I moved here--” she takes a breath. _Why do I keep talking? “_ It doesn’t matter. I know them well enough to know how kind and caring they are, and that I wouldn’t wanna leave Gin-chan any other place in the world.”

Kagura pauses. She could have continued her tirade; there’s nothing but endless praise and thankfulness in her feelings toward the Shimuras and their small child care institution. Being something of a jack-of-all-trades, her job has always secured her an average, if somewhat fluctuating, income, and the freedom of working at her own volition and speed. Now, she has Gin-chan, which means another mouth to feed plus adjusting work hours to the time she’s allowed to leave him at the daycare. She’s seriously lucky the Shimuras are acquaintances; friends aware of her situation and willing to help out, even after hours sometimes.

“Right,” Okita places his hands on the railing and straightens his back, and the movement makes Kagura realise how close they’re standing. Close enough for her to perceive something assuasive pass by his features, softening the line of his mouth, his faintly furrowed brow. She can even smell the cologne on him; something faintly pine tree-y, very musky.

“Okita-san,” Shinpachi’s slightly high-pitched greeting is jerking Kagura straight out of her observation, and they both turn to see him hurrying towards them, Toshi on one arm and a forced smile plastered all over his face. “Oh, Kagura-chan, you’re here, too, how-- lucky.” 

Every part of Shinpachi’s face speaks of how absolutely not lucky he finds her presence.

“It’s probably for the best, yeah,” he coughs. “We just had a small misfortune at snacktime, I don’t know why, really, they usually get along just fine, but as it seems, they do seem to clash when it comes to--” 

Shinpachi’s nervous rambling goes on, but Kagura suspects Okita is as deaf to it as she is. They both see the bubblegum pink lollipop tangled into Toshi’s black locks at the same time, are both pierced by his blue eyes, too sharp for a toddler -- really. The silent rage within them is far too eloquent. 

“Yikes, he’s scary, your kid--” Kagura starts, but is cut off by Okita’s scoff before she can even try to apologise. To be fair, she _had_ actually meant to, truly, because why, she _does_ recognise that lollipop; she _might_ have given it to Gin-chan this morning; just to appease his sudden sulky mood at the mention of her leaving him at Otose’s later that night for a few hours, because of work.

“Didn’t I ask you to keep your little slug away from Toushirou?”

“Are you kidding me?” Kagura snarls, outraged, even the notion of an apology forgotten about in the face of the immediate accusation. “You don’t even know who’s the culprit here! How dare you single out Gin-chan without any evidence?”

“I don’t need any evidence, do I?” Okita sneers, reaching for the little embodiment of grumpiness, otherwise known as Toshi, offered to him by a sweat-dropping Shinpachi. “Just looking at that lollipop I can tell it’s fish eyes’ doing. One doesn’t have to be a rocket scientist to be able to tell you’ve been feeding him sweets, you know.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?!” Kagura bristles. “I bet all you do at home is slurping mayonnaise and play Tetsumo Party!”

“Hey, you two…!” Shinpachi waves his arms about. “I’m well aware it looks suspicious but it’s not exactly what you think, I’m sure, Gin-chan was actually trying to give--”

“I’m not interested,” Okita cuts him off, wrapping his arms tighter around the glowering toddler in his arms, then says in a somewhat silkier tone: “Also, I’m not blaming this on you, Shimura. I’m sure it must be difficult to run a respectable institution for children when you also take in kids bred by demons.”

He’s gone before Kagura has gotten enough air into her lungs to yell something, that would most probably have moved any show to the night time slot, after him, and Shinpachi stands gaping, looking like a fish out of water. Sadaharu barks, softly, at his retreating frame, as if to call him back.

“Really, _honestly,_ who the _hell_ does he think he is?” Kagura fumes, clenching her fists. “I’m gonna beat the shit out of him next time, I don’t care if he’s looking all fine and important, an arse is an arse!”

“Kagura-chan, please, calm down. You really shouldn’t hit him, or _anyone,_ for that matter. Surely even you can tell that this isn’t worth getting arrested for,” Shinpachi reasons, adjusting his glasses.

“Oh, sod it. Then I’ll see to it that _he_ is. Seriously, it _can’t_ be legal _,_ being such a massively conceited prick.” She draws for a breath. “Yeah. I’ll report him to the police.”

Shinpachi scratches the back of his head, looking awkward.

“Well, that’s what I’ve been meaning to tell you. About Okita-san... He _is_ the police.”

**. . .**

tbc.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 🎧 1: [Daði Freyr (Daði & Gagnamagnið) – Think About Things](https://youtu.be/VFZNvj-HfBU/)
> 
> ♥️ I'll update this on a monthly basis, or more frequently if I get some unexpected time off.


	2. policeman

policeman

**. . .**

“Just one drink,” Kagura assures Otose as she slides onto a barstool, skilfully avoiding the reproachful look she’s receiving. “I’ve had a bad day.”

“Bad day, bad night,” Otose remarks, but like usual, Kagura’s glass is filled up anyway. 

It’s past closing time, and Kagura is alone at the little joint, apart from the owner herself grumbling on the opposite side of the counter, and one of the barmaids; a green-haired, nondescript girl called Tama, who’s busy sweeping the floors with spotless efficiency. Gin-chan is sound asleep next to Kagura on the floor. Nestled in between Sadaharu’s front legs, his hair is almost as white as the dog’s fur; it’s hard to tell where the toddler ends and the dog begins.

“Being a working mom ain’t easy, you know,” Kagura mutters, making an effort of _not_ sinking her drink right away but taking a mature kind of sip instead. 

“So it’s about work?” Otose slants her a sideway glance while lighting a cigarette, and Kagura nods in weary affirmative. 

It’s not a complete lie. Work has been taking a toll on her lately. Her current client -- a very wealthy, very hysterical lady -- has hired Kagura solely to spy on her fiancé, and so far it’s been nothing but countless hours of watching him go about his remarkably uneventful life.

Kagura tells Otose this while lazily swirling the contents of her glass around. Bourbon, because she’s hard boiled.

“You know she actually bought him a male chastity belt?” Kagura says, to which Otose raises a sceptical eyebrow.

“Yes. Those exist.” Kagura sighs. “That’s the level of her paranoia, go figure.”

“No thanks,” Otose huffs, blowing out some smoke. “How about you heed my advice and look for a proper day time job instead, Kagura-chan? I’ve told you a thousand times. No, listen,” she waves a hand at Kagura, noticing that she’s rolling her eyes without even looking. “It’s different now. You really shouldn’t be going out on dangerous missions.” She glances at the snoring Gin-chan. “You haven’t got just yourself to think of, now.” 

“It’s not dangerous,” Kagura objects, and that’s not a complete lie, either. “I might die from being too bored, though. That guy is more likely to sprout tentacles before trying something as adventurous as cheating.”

This seems to interest Otose about as much as it does her client, which is to say; not at all. She stubs out her cigarette and returns to polishing glasses, and Kagura heaves a deep sigh. Fact is that she’s been carrying out her duties in a haze of tedium lately, only because it pays handsomely and she needs the money. Otherwise, she would probably have abandoned ship a long time ago, and _that’s_ the truth of it. She prefers a bit of action. 

No need telling Otose that, though.

“Like, what is a proper job, anyway?” She asks no one in particular, swivelling around on her chair. “Being a cop?”

Kagura feels rather than sees Otose’s eyes on her as she continues.

“I’m serious. It does _sound_ all proper, sure, but _in reality,_ I bet they’re all corrupt asshats, dividing their time between shady dealings with the underworld and gobbling down donuts.”

“Probably,” Otose agrees, picking up a new glass. “It’s a tad bit black, though. Did something happen?”

_She knows me too well._

“I guess someone awoke the cynical in me,” Kagura sighs, coming to a stop on the swivelling chair with her face toward the counter again. Otose doesn’t have to ask “who”, her attention is enough and Kagura goes on after having knocked back the last of her drink. “Okita. I call him Shithead.”

It rather has a ring to it, though, his name -- _Oh - ki - ta --_ it just sort of rolls off her tongue like that, and _that’s_ not alright, but before she knows it, she has told the entire, infuriating tale to Otose.

She’s also managed to work herself into a proper rage by the end of it. 

“If Sadaharu got lost, or if I for any other reason needed to call the police, he’s the last person I’d want to speak to,” she summarises with an angry snort.

Otose hums quietly and pours her another drink, and Kagura’s thankful for her understanding. She’s already anticipating the burn of it, bringing the glass to her lips; when Tama suddenly speaks.

“Okita-san is Detective Chief Inspector.”

The alcohol makes a U-turn in Kagura’s throat. It sprays like a fountain from her mouth over the counter, which earns her a whack upon the head from Otose, but she hardly notices.

“Say _what?_ ”

“He’s the DCI,” Tama repeats, stashing away the broom and smoothing out her white apron. “Okita-san, that is.”

“Yeah, well, I heard that, I just -- _seriously?”_

Wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, Kagura squints incredulously at Tama. Otose lights another cigarette.

“Yes,” Tama nods, patiently. 

Otose clears her throat.

“How do you know that, Tama?” 

“My boyfriend works for the Tokyo MPD, Criminal Affairs Bureau,” Tama tells them like it’s old news. 

It’s obviously not, since even Otose looks slightly taken aback. 

“You didn’t tell me you had a boyfriend,” she rasps, frowning. “And a police officer, too.”

“Even though I’m forever in your debt for providing me this job, Otose-san, I’m not obliged to tell you all the details of my private life,” Tama says matter-of-fact, almost proudly, leaving Otose slack-jawed and Kagura amused, if a little surprised. She’s hardly ever seen Tama express emotions before. Of any kind. Tama elaborates: “He’s a Sergeant. Though he’s specializing in undercover work, mainly.”

Otose sighs, tapping off some ashes into a red porcelain ashtray, the kind with a lid with a small hole on the top; upon giving Tama a stern look. It’s clear that a speech is coming, so Kagura hurriedly intercepts with a question of her own:

“So, Tama, how does your boyfriend know Shith-- Okita?”

“He’s part of Okita-san’s squad. He speaks very well of the DCI.” Tama tilts her head to the side. “On occasion.”

Kagura frowns. Sure, Okita being some kind of big shot at the MPD would explain the fancy suits, but it still doesn’t sit right with her.

“He’s an asshole,” she states, folding her arms over her chest. “Also, he’s like… I don’t know, my age.”

“Young?” Otose asks dryly.

Kagura rolls her eyes. Tama goes on with a straight face.

“He is. In fact, Yamazaki-san tells me Okita-san is among the youngest to have been assigned the title of Detective Chief Inspector at the force. When he moved to Tokyo a couple of months ago, he was the talk of the town.”

“Yamazaki,” Otose scowls, but Kagura has other concerns. 

“So what, he just came out of nowhere and got that rank? I don’t know shit about the police but that doesn’t sound right.”

“Apparently he knows the superintendent. They’re from the same prefecture, originally. Somewhere down south,” Tama says, much like she’s imitating someone else telling this story, word by word, and Kagura scoffs. 

“Nepotism. Figures.”

“Not entirely,” Tama shakes her head. “Okita-san actually came highly recommended. He’s something of a prodigy within the force. They say he sped through the NPA program, not with the aid of connections but because of skill and natural aptitude; within the academic and practical field alike, such as shooting and martial arts. Okita-san was the top of his class, in every single…”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it,” Kagura waves her hand about dismissively, feeling like another word praising the bastard might actually choke her. “He’s that annoying A-student no one dares to speak ill of, though no one _really_ likes them. The most tragic kind of character.”

“Indeed,” Tama agrees. “Okita-san is not the kind of antagonist you can full-on hate, though, because he’s got some anti-heroic qualities. There’s something dark, from his past; one incident in particular that haunts and shapes him.”

Kagura stares at Tama’s serious face for a beat. She’s going to go ahead and assume that that last part was just Tama going along with the reference, no matter how unlikely it is that she would know anything about dramaturgy. 

Tama looks back at her, unblinking.

“Okaaaay,” Kagura says, finally, allowing a devilish grin to break through. “That’s enough about Mr Shithead. Now, Tama. Tell me about this Yamazaki-fella. Are you going steady or what?”

Kagura is fairly sure it’s the first time she’s ever seen Tama blush.

~  
  


The next day, Kagura comes by the nursery to pick up Gin-chan about the same time as the day before. It’s another clear afternoon, the sky an endless sweep of crisp blue and the leaves are yellower still, many still attached to branches, brittle and unwilling to let go of summer. Okita is not around to spoil the beauty of it, and Kagura guesses he has probably changed his routine. Or, he doesn’t really have a routine, due to his work requiring him to move out when it’s needed rather than following a fixed schedule, just like hers, and _why the hell_ is she even thinking about his work hours? 

_Dammit._

Kagura sighs, coming up to lean her elbows against the railing. Her shoulders slump a bit, with relaxation, she decides. Sadaharu sits next to her, heavily, and gives a somber little grumble in the way dogs sigh.

Today, the kids are playing outdoors. 

Kagura spots Gin-chan running with his usual crowd, two boys a couple of months older than him. One quiet and serious-looking, with delicate features, even for a toddler; he’s commonly mistaken for a girl, the other just the opposite; a little loudmouth with a head of brown locks just as messy as Gin-chan’s, always bubbling with laughter. Right now, his merriment knows no boundaries since they have managed to wrestle Shinpachi to the ground. All three boys are cheering and Gin-chan is perched on Shinpachi’s back with a smug look on his face, looking even more victorious at the sight of Kagura, his face reading “ _Look mama, I’ve brought down this mighty beast, won’t you praise me?_ ” and Kagura smiles.

That’s her kid, alright.

“Kagura-chan,” Shinpachi pleads from the ground. “Don’t just stand there, do something already, will you!”

“What, you can’t handle a pair of two-year olds on your own? That’s pathetic, Shin-chan!” Kagura laughs, placing her hands on her hips. 

She _has_ the intention to go save him, however, she’s distracted by the sound of another laugh, as loud and boisterous as her own, coming from behind her. 

She whirls around on impulse.

“Kids, huh. They really are the joy of this world.”

A man in a suit is approaching. It’s not _her_ Man in a Suit, though. Obviously. Kagura frowns. He might be wearing a suit, but that’s where the similarities to Okita stop. This man is taller, broader of chest; he looks burly, very strong and _happy._ His face is one of open friendliess, and Kagura feels it’s difficult not to smile back at him as he comes up just next to her and Sadaharu, placing his hands on the railing.

“What a wonderful day,” he exclaims, then turns to her, extending a hand. “And you. You must be the gorgeous redhead Sougo’s been muttering about! Nice to meet you!”

Kagura stares at the large hand in front of her. Is she supposed to shake it? Who’s _Sougo_? 

“Who’re you?” she asks, bluntly, looking up into the broad face of the man who’s continuously smiling. Somehow, he reminds her of a big, friendly ape. A gorilla, maybe. 

“Hehehe, I’m sorry!” Big Gorilla Guy withdraws his hand to scratch the back of his head. “I’m Kondou. Isao Kondou.”

Kagura folds her arms across her chest.

“I’m going with Gori,” she announces, then adds benevolently: “I’m Kagura.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Kondou grins. 

Kagura gives a noncommittal shrug while gesturing toward the playground, where Shinpachi has managed to get to his feet, and is now the one chasing the three boys around. They are all chortling in delight.

“So, you’ve got a kid here, too?”

“Nah, nah, I’m just helping a colleague out, repaying a favour one might say, too,” Kondou laughs, a bit awkwardly. “I haven’t got any kids of my own.”

Kagura cocks her head to the side. Somehow, that surprises her. This guy seems to be a dad by nature.

“Not that I don’t want them,” Kondou adds in a hurry, noticing Kagura’s look. “I do, it’s just that…” he clears his throat, then goes on stage-whispering, using one hand to unnecessarily cover his mouth. “You see, I suspect the missus isn’t quite ready for that step, just yet. I mean, she’s a goddess, for sure, but perhaps not what you’d call a born mother, ehehe! But soon, I feel like she might come around, and I’m the patient kind you see, waiting’s not a problem, of course-- OUCH!”

Kagura sees Tae long before the bag connects with the back of Kondou’s head; she just doesn’t feel obliged to tell him it’s coming. She somehow has the distinct feeling he deserves it, and if Tae’s furious smile is anything to go by, her inkling is correct.

“Who’s not a born mother?” The ice in Tae’s voice sends chills all the way up to the clear heavens. 

“I’m sorry Otae-san!” Kondou whimpers, clutching his head. “I didn’t mean to upset you! To me, it doesn’t matter if we have kids or not, as long as I can stay by your side, I’m perfectly content!”

“Kagura-chan,” Tae turns to Kagura, still smiling; also completely and smoothly ignoring Kondou. “How lovely to see you. I hope this stinking old monkey hasn’t been bothering you.”

Kagura shrugs. “He’s alright.” She distantly wonders if Tae didn’t hear the “missus”-part or if she just doesn’t mind that bit. 

“China!” Kondou wails, happy tears flowing freely down his cheeks. 

Tae’s smile threatens to break the entire world into tiny pieces. “I see. Well, I have matters to attend to, so I really must be going. Let’s talk later, Kagura-chan.”

“Sure,” says Kagura, and Tae walks away, without so much as a glance in Kondou’s direction, toward the nursery building. One of the children, a small boy with a sharply cut black fringe, immediately runs to her side, bright-eyed and red-cheeked, and Tae picks him up and habitually places him on her hip before they disappear inside. 

Kondou sobs miserably. “Otae-san..!” 

Kagura gives him a sympathetic pat on the shoulder. Honestly, being in love with Shimura Tae isn’t a fate she’d wish on her worst enemy. In case they weren't a giant masochist, of course.

_Ah._

“It’s alright, Gori,” she says. “She’ll never properly come around but that’s the beauty of it, don’t you think?”

Kondou sniffs, then nods hesitantly.

“I suppose…”

“Well, I’m off, I have a little demon to pick up,“ Kagura says, scanning the playground for Gin-chan, only to notice that he’s run off to hide from Shinpachi. “When I find him.”

“Wait, eh, I was wondering,” Kondou says, sounding suddenly urgent. “Can I ask you a favour?”

Kagura narrows her eyes.

“I’m not sure we have known each other long enough for that, Gori.”

“Please? It’s not a big deal, and I will owe you one.” Kondou wipes away some stray tears out of the corners of his eyes. “It’s just that, I need to speak to my girl-- Otae-san. Just for a bit.”

Kagura sighs. It might be an occupational hazard, but she has a hard time saying no to people in any kind of need. Doing people favours is her specialty, after all. 

“So what is it?” 

Kondou looks like he might start to cry out of happiness again. 

“China! You’re the best!” He rummages for something in his suit pocket. “Let’s see, where did I put it… Oh, yes. Here it is.” He hands her a small key and a crumpled note with something that looks like an address scribbled on it. “Just take him here, that’s all.”

Kagura stares at the objects in her hand suspiciously.

“Hey, Gori, what’s the deal with--“ she starts, raising her head; only to notice Kondu being well on his way after Tae.

“I’m in your debt, China!” He shouts over his shoulder.

“That’s not my name! What’s with you people and naming a person stereotypically after their appearance, huh?” Kagura yells after him though she doubts she hears it.

And who the hell is ‘ _he’?_

The answer to that question appears in front of her at that very moment. V-shaped bangs, mayo bottle and all. Kagura looks into Tosh’s piercing blue eyes with a sense of alarm, as well as dawning realisation.

_Oh._

_Shit._

It all comes together. The mentions of a colleague, a favour, the suit. The fact that she has landed herself in a situation that she most definitely doesn’t want to be in. _Most definitely._ She’s about to go after Kondou and shove the key and the note up a place where the sun doesn’t shine when she feels a little hand grab at the fabric of her trousers.

She stops in her tracks. Toshi’s looking right at her, his hand curled into a tight fist on her trousers. He suddenly reminds her a bit of Gin-chan. Kagura finds she can’t escape those eyes, sharp and cautious under his fringe, but also silently asking for something, _what, you little runt!_ and in the end she can’t help but pick him up.

Of course she can’t.

It’s not Toshi’s fault, after all. He might be the spawn of something evil, but he really can’t help that, can he? Within her arms, he’s as soft-cheeked as Gin-chan, and Kagura can’t refrain from giving him a little cuddle. He allows it with some reluctance, and Kagura is just thinking it might not be so bad, after all.

That’s when she notices Gin-chan’s frowning little face staring up at them.

~

They fight all the way back to Toshi’s house. First it’s pretty much hand-to-hand combat; Kagura has a hard time keeping them from strangling each other. Telling them off doesn’t work since they’re at it again as soon as she turns her back, and it’s not until she resorts to bribing -- which means mayonnaise and strawberry milk -- that she gets them calm enough to sit together in the wooden cart she’s made for Sadaharu.

_Seriously, Gori. I’m gonna make you pay me back for this. Free food. For a year._

It’s a makeshift solution, the cart. Indoors, Gin-chan has taken to riding Sadaharu’s back, something the dog seems perfectly fine with -- however Kagura figures it might attract some unwanted attention in the streets. They’re quite an odd group as it is, and she hasn’t stopped looking over her shoulder since Gin-chan appeared the way he did. A cart, she had thought, would bring some normalcy to the overall picture.

She realises now, however, as she walks beside Sadaharu; pony-sized and fluffy, pulling the little cart with the two bickering toddlers, squeezed close together but still pulling at each other’s hair -- that they still look far from normal. Whatever that is. Even when she’s on her own, her various Chinese outfits and bright red hair normally turn people’s heads; it’s just that she never thought about it, or cared, before. ‘Discreet’ ultimately is a concept she doesn’t do well. 

By the time they reach the address Kondou gave her, Gin-chan and Toshi have come to some kind of grudging acceptance of the situation, though. Kagura is surprised to notice how they’re both heavy and warm with relaxation as she lifts them out of the cart. 

_So you’re actually kind of okay with this, aren’t you? Little brats._

She’s also somewhat surprised at the sight of the house. For whatever reason, she hadn’t thought it would be so… _plain_. In the middle of a nice neighborhood, with light coloured bricks and neatly trimmed bushes in the front yard, it looks just like any other house. _No shit Sherlock. You thought him to be the type to reside in some sort of flashy palace, weren’t you? Too much TV, Kagura-chan._ Still. It might not be overly big but Kagura knows it takes money to live in a house of any kind in this part of town, and so she must assume that this Okita-guy has got his finances well sorted. The smug asshole. Sighing, she takes Gin-chan and Toshi in one hand each and walks up to the front door.

Might as well get this over and done with, fast as possible--

Her hopes are crushed before she has even finished that thought. As soon as she’s fitted the key into the lock, and the door swings open, the toddlers let go of her hands and run into the house as though they both live there. Sadaharu trudges after them in the same fashion.

“Oi! Gin-chan! Sadaharu! Come back here! We’re not staying!” Kagura calls after them. She steps inside at the lack of response, and closes the door behind her. “Gin-chaaaan!” she calls again, and though she hears the pitter-patter of small feet running about further in the house, that’s about it. “Goddamnit,” she mutters to herself, slipping out of her flat black shoes, resigned to go get him.

The hallway is dark, so she presses the light switch before cautiously taking a couple of steps along the corridor. No one’s home. She’s not sure why, but she’s certain of it; something about the space she walks into breathes of an involuntary emptiness. Everything’s clean, soft colours and light wood panels mixed with traditional Japanese interior details; wide shoji doors leading her into a living room with a low cherrywood table, on which is placed a set of delicate porcelain cups. One wall is set with panel windows, allowing large flecks of pale sunlight to dance over the furniture courtesy of the rustling leaves outside. It’s so pretty, and yet, Kagura feels a bit uneasy about it all, still uncannily sure that someone, or something, has robbed this place of its laughter.

But why? Who lives here, anyway? Okita, surely, and Toshi, and-- _why didn’t I think of it sooner?_ Kagura stops in her tracks, -- _not_ giving any attention to the faint burn in her chest -- then slowly whirls around on the heels of her feet; scanning the room for clues as to what kind of person would be able to stand married life with the insufferable idiot. 

She spots it almost immediately.

Placed on a bureau by the windows, next to a vase of lilies in full bloom, is a framed portrait of a beautiful woman. _There you are._ Kagura walks over, intrigued. The woman in the picture seems to be calling her, beckoning her, in fact, to come closer, and Kagura gingerly picks the frame up. _Who are you?_ Her face is bright and gentle, framed by sand-coloured, silky locks, and there’s a glow to her skin, to her, like she’s got an halo; it just happens to be invisible. 

It could be assumed it’s a picture of the lady in the house, but the position of it seems off, a bit too _sacred_ to be something as ordinary as that, and then, it’s the eyes. Large and kind, they’re that warm shade of crimson Kagura has come to associate with Okita. Honestly, there’s a striking resemblance between them, set in the delicate lines of her face; one it’s difficult to brush aside. It’s almost like--

Kagura blocks the incoming blow by instinct; swift and reflexive, one arm shielding the back of her head, but there’s still the coldness of steel against her neck, pressing against the pulse point there. 

Once again, his speed is blindsiding her. It shouldn’t belong to a human being, it’s _not right._ Additionally, the presence of this _human being_ behind her back is positively overrunning her senses with the smell of danger; and no matter how well accustomed she is to that, she doesn’t encounter it often nowadays, not here. He invokes in her an awareness, at once familiar and alarming, vibrating with certainty of how deadly he is.

“Put it down, China.”

His voice has fallen down to a level of unadulterated darkness, and the threat of what would happen if she doesn’t, just cuts at Kagura’s consciousness sharper than the knife at her neck, and she can’t help herself. 

“Or _what_?”

There’s a languid quality to her own voice, one that can only be coaxed forward by adrenaline, and Okita steps in closer, his frame looming tall and menacing behind her back, just millimetres short of touching. The pressure of the knife’s edge is increasing slightly against her neck but she’s preoccupied with that scent he gives off, the raw danger laced with pine needles and what she guesses must be _him,_ heady and intoxicating; it’s fucking intrusive but -- _goddammit_ \-- she doesn’t hate it. 

“Or, I’ll cut you.”

He’s dead serious. Kagura’s breath hitches in her throat, slightly. Hoping that he doesn’t notice; she tips her head back, so that she leans it against his shoulder, glancing up at him from under her bangs. 

She grins at his expression of barely contained bafflement.

”Unlikely story.” Still, she lets the portraits soundlessly slip out of her hands to land at its original position on the bureau; though none of them cares about it at this point. “It’s cute how you think that you can, though.”

He chuckles, and Kagura sees, out of the corner of her eye, how his darkly amused expression floats back into place. “Not as unlikely as you having the key to my house. Care to tell me that story?”

“Not really,” she drawls, for the sake of being annoying to him, not because she enjoys this whole thing a bit too much. 

Really.

The knife slides along her throat, slowly, the flat of the blade tracing a line from her cheek to her collarbone, forcing her to expose her neck to him a bit more than she normally would, but that’s -- _yeah, I shouldn’t._

“Cheeky,” Okita murmurs, and Kagura can’t tell if it’s the languorous tune of his voice or the way he speaks so close to her ear that sets off the onslaught of pleasant shivers dancing along her spine. “So you’ve been sneaking around my house like a common thief. Do you know how I usually greet burglars?”

“With tea and biscuits?”

He chuckles again, letting the knife edge prod the vulnerable spot just under her chin, pressing it down gently.

“Yeah, they can have that. _After._ ”

“After what?”

She must ask, not because she wants to prolong this little moment, mind, but because she wants to test his willingness to go through with it. 

“After I’m done punishing them,” Okita discloses, crudely, and Kagura finds it a little difficult to snort at this, instead of-- _what? The actual fuck?_

“What kind of punishment?”

It’s meant to sound lofty. It comes out terribly sultry. 

“Depends,” Okita leans in closer, she can feel his chest against the top of her shoulders, making contact at last; wide and solid and warm. “If they put up a fight, I handcuff them.”

“And?” 

“If they’re being loud,” he tells her, monotone. “I gag them.”

There’s a thrill, deep and unsettling, uncoiling at the very centre of Kagura’s bones; startling her _\--_ and she bites her lip, fighting back the sudden urge to lean back against him. _Okay, this needs to stop._

And yet.

“For a policeman, you seem rather willing to resort to unconventional methods,” she observes, keeping her voice amused, unimpressed. 

She feels Okita’s smile rather than sees it, her ear is growing hot with the lingering presence of his warm breath; although she’s loath you admit it, she can’t fully ignore it. _Focus, dammit._

“Yeah, well,” he says. “I was thinking unconventional methods might be right up your alley.”

“Really, I wonder what gave you that impression,” Kagura snorts, knowing that she really, truly needs to act before his implications start to make sense. “You know, _I_ was thinking, you shouldn’t presume anything about me, at all.”

Her elbow is hitting him between the ribs, razor sharp, and she whirls around within his grip, using a bit too much strength; his back is slammed against the wall with a loud bang, and a distant voice _is_ telling her that she shouldn’t, but she’s too riled up to give a damn. Within seconds, she’s gotten Okita’s wrist in a vice grip, her other hand closing on his throat, and he’s inevitably trapped against the wall; their roles reversed. 

“Now I’ll kindly ask you to drop that.” Kagura murmurs, looking at his face instead of the knife, and it’s the feel of tendons moving under skin and the clattering sound of steel hitting the floor that tells her of his, somewhat surprising, obedience. Why, because his eyes speak of nothing of the sort. They’re widening a fraction, revealing no fear; only a deep, hungry red.

“Oi. You’re dangerous, China.”

Kagura sneers, ignoring the way her heart thuds heavy and excited at his demonstration of idiotic fortitude; and she grabs his throat tighter. 

“You think?”

The words are dripping with sarcasm, but her hands are burning hot from where they’re touching him; harder than she should, still. Her muscles are all pulled taut, body tense like a bowstring, ready to explode at any movement. It’s the fact that he isn’t afraid of her that unsettles her, she decides. Normally, having someone single-handedly grab your throat with enough power to all but lift you from the floor should be terrifying, right?

As it is, Okita looks very far from terrified. His teeth look sharp when he grins. 

“I knew there was something about you.”

Kagura’s mind freezes over. _Damn, I’ve been reckless._

“I don’t--“ she starts, but at the same moment there’s an angry growl, coming from ground-level; announcing the arrival of a certain blue-eyed, very indignant-looking, toddler.

_Shit._

Kagura steps back reflexively, letting go of Okita’s throat in favour of holding her hands up in front of her. 

“Hi there, sweetheart,” she smiles, in a way she hopes is innocent, using one bare foot to discreetly push the knife in under the carpet. “Me and your dad were just playing a game, I wasn’t gonna hurt him or anything,” she pauses to glance at Okita, who looks annoyingly unruffled, as he straightens up beside her, adjusting his tie a bit. Kagura tries not to think of how hot he looks doing that.

"What, you're trying to say this isn’t what it looks like?”

"Well, of fucking course."

"Language," Okita chides, sounding amused, and Toshi growls again. He doesn’t seem convinced at all, his blue eyes are mere slants of suspicion, and Okita squats down to gather the glowering toddler in his arms.

“It’s okay, Toushirou,” he mumbles into Toshi’s black locks, while looking up at Kagura from under his own fringe, a devious smile curving his lips. “I know she comes off quite scary, but that’s because she doesn’t know any better. Actually, I believe she’s not from our planet, at all. And in that case, it falls upon us to teach her the way of earthlings, don’t you think?”

Kagura feels like punching him, really bad, but that’s when Gin-chan ambles in to the room with Sadaharu in tow, and she has to tear her gaze from Okita’s infuriating smile.   
  
Which is probably lucky, she tells herself.

**. . .**

tbc.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 🎧 2: [Kwamie Liv - New Boo](https://www.youtube.com/embed/8qOwl0LW7FU)
> 
> ♥️ everyone’s got a small secret.


	3. brother

brother

**. . .**

The woman from the picture shows up in a dream Kagura’s having.

At first, Kagura doesn’t realise it’s her. She’s all evasive glimpses; flashes of a flower-patterned kimono, strands of light brown hair sweeping across a pale neck, a melancholic line of slender shoulders, as she walks, onwards and away, always on her way somewhere Kagura can’t quite go. Dreamland is like that, typically foggy and incoherent, leaving little to nothing to wishes and all but everything to haphazard fragments of coincidence. 

Kagura’s good at sorting out clues amongst smoke and mirrors though, even in dreams, and once she’s sure it’s the woman in the picture she’s following, she desperately wishes for her to turn. Turn around and look at her at last, so that she can see her face, and ask her who she is, why she’s in her dream, what she _wants._

Because Kagura knows that she wants something. She’s not sure how and why and what, but that it’s something, she’s absolutely dead certain of. So she runs, chases, and screams, after the elusory woman in the kimono, for what feels like the entirety of the night. It leaves her exhausted, out of breath and slipping and stumbling along rocky roads and paved streets, she can’t tell if they’re in the mountains or in a very old city, but the woman still won’t turn, and Kagura’s voice is too strained with the force of emotion; why won’t it carry?

It’s a nightmare. Even within the dream, she knows so, and when the woman finally turns, it’s not on Kagura’s request. In fact, she doesn’t even want the woman to turn any longer. She stops too abruptly, and the scene is changing in the same fashion, from serene and sleepy to crude and overwhelmingly sharp. The white flowers on the kimono are no longer flowers, but blots of large red petals, expanding at a horrifying pace, turning into waves of coppery-smelling water around them, hot and sickenly thick. 

Kagura can’t run anymore. She’s petrified by something unknown, and now it’s the other way around. The woman is walking towards her and the face Kagura has been longing to see is not there. 

Not all of it, at any rate.

Kagura stares into the one eye remaining, soft and loving just like the gaze she met in the picture, and since the woman has no mouth, that one eye has to convey all of the sadness in the world. 

She wakes up gasping for air, heart racing madly and her cheeks wet with tears. _What?_ Kagura sits, wiping her eyes. A sense of heavy surrealism passes over her. What the hell was that? Why would she be having a dream about someone she hasn’t even met? And why on earth did it feel so shockingly real?

Unable to go back to sleep with her head a pandemonium of questions, she slips out from under the covers, careful not to wake up Gin-chan, who sleeps soundly in his bed on the other side of the room. She pads over to the kitchen and puts the kettle on. It’s the middle of the night; a glance out the windows revealing the shape of a half crescent moon sitting high in the sky tells her so. When the brew’s ready, Kagura climbs up in the deep window sill, cradling her steaming cup within the circle of her hands while looking out over the moonlit rooftops.

It’s been days since she was at Okita’s house, so it really makes no sense that she’d be having this dream now. In fact, she really, honestly thought she was done thinking about anything regarding him. Kagura sips her tea, trying to focus on the soothing warmth and make the crease between her eyebrows go away by sheer force of will. Their last run-in undeniably riled her up quite a bit, and she’s not sure whether it was her slighted ego going over the details of it in her head afterwards; stopping and analysing certain bits, skipping others because _I don’t know what possessed me there for a bit_ \-- but another part of her, one driven by equal parts anger and fascination.

The truth is that certain aspects of what happened at Okita’s houses are too puzzling to disregard just because of her wounded pride. Really; the inherent danger she smelled on him, the _inhuman_ reflexes, the implicit words and the touch of his breath, hot against her ear. The woman in the picture. _Dammit._ She _had_ succeeded in shutting all of that out of her mind, actually.

The dream brings it all back.

She wants to know. 

Kagura sighs, leaning her forehead against the cool glass of the window, she closes her eyes and makes reluctant peace with that fact. It might very well be another occupational hazard, but investigating the unknown is also part of her curious soul, and Okita and everything about him; big red labels, unapproachable attitude and all -- just tempt her to no end. It’s a slippery slope, but so be it. 

She still wants to know.

~

“Where have you been? It’s a storm out there, for God’s sake,” Otose scolds the shabby-looking cat slinking into the bar the next day. The black fur is coated with raindrops and it looks a bit mutinous as it shakes them off just inside the door, causing Otose to sigh. “And now you’re soiling the carpet. Damn useless cat.”

“Didn’t you say you were done bringing in strays?” Kagura observes from the bar, watching Otose feeding the intermittently purring and hissing cat milk and dried fish. 

“I am,” Otose says. “This is not a stray. Catherine’s a _thief._ It’s common knowledge the best way of dealing with thieves is giving them what they planned to steal before they even knew they wanted it.”

“That’s a weird name for a cat,” says Kagura, almost adding a ‘and a pretty weird sort of logic too’, when another drenched guest, clad in police uniform and shoulders slightly hunched, enters the bar. The chill air gusting past him as the door slides open smells of rain, and the strands of dark hair plastered across his forehead is a testament to the force of it. 

“Yamazaki-san!” Tama exclaims, and it’s the closest thing to a beaming smile Kagura has ever seen on her. 

“Tama-san.” Yamazaki smiles back at her, and Kagura can tell by the way of that smile that there’s some profound adoration there, too. “Good evening”.

“Good --? You’re here…” Tama sounds like Kagura feels when she’s trying to be strict with Gin-chan but he’s too cute to be angry with. “I have told you that you don’t have to come pick me up at night.”

“I know, Tama-san,” Yamazaki rubs the back of his head. “We were in the neighbourhood is all, and the boss wanted a drink, so I thought -- what better place is it around here?” 

Kagura is jerked out of her indolent state of reflection in a heartbeat, and she’a not sure whether it’s the word ‘boss’ that is stirring her into acute awareness, or the smell of him. But she hopes she can’t. Smell him from afar, that is.

Okita is in a dark green suit today, with a white shirt and a black vest underneath, somehow terribly fitting the storm roaring outside, though his general countenance is as unimpressed as ever. His gaze travels lazily around the dimly lit bar, along the polished cherry wood countertop and the well-worn furniture, while folding away a black umbrella. Doubtlessly, he would have looked strikingly professional, wasn’t it for the blue baby sling tied around his upper body. All that is visible of Toshi is a tuft of black hair and a pair of very sleepy eyes peering over Okita’s shoulder -- _god, that’s cute_ \-- and if Kagura momentarily has the urge to comment on the fact that he kept the umbrella to himself when his subordinate obviously got caught in the downfall, it dies down in her throat.

Sadaharu has smelled Okita, too. His tail wags hard against the wooden floor and Gin-chan stirs in his sleep, nestled at his usual place between the dog’s front legs, and Kagura has to reach down from her barstool to calm him down. The last thing she wants is for Sadaharu to bounce to his feet and Gin-chan waking up in an ugly mood and--

Hand still stroking the top of Sadaharu’s head, she discreetly glances up from behind her bangs; only to meet Okita’s gaze. He’s looking right at her, and she’s pierced by the spark within the deep red; quick and possibly involuntary -- he can’t wholly hide it from her. _What?_ Something moves erratically in Kagura’s chest, startling and almost painful; her heart, she realises, faintly incredulous, is hammering away at a downright ridiculous speed. She can feel it thudding in her throat even, as she swallows, and she’s about to open her mouth and greet him, or insult him, she’s not sure, because before any sound escapes her, Okita’s eyes are skidding away from her.

Like she doesn’t exist. 

_Are you serious?_

The surroundings are filtering back in, and Kagura, who hasn’t been aware she was momentarily removed from them, is distantly tuned back in to the sound of Tama’s voice. Of introductions being made, Otose’s raspy reply, Sadaharu’s soft bark, and then Okita, sliding up just next to her, ordering a drink. She’s not about to tell him, but his ability of ignoring Otose’s _‘and what do you think you’re doing ordering hard liquor with a small child tied to your back_ ’-scowl is probably on par with hers. Shameless. Kagura can’t decide what’s the most provoking; his behaviour or his goddamn smell. It clings to her senses like a constant reminder of how it feels when he’s closer. Pine needles and arrogance. _You should put that in a bottle with your name on it, jackass._

She needs to forcefully shut his existence out of her mind to be able to focus on Tama introducing her to Yamazaki.

“This is Kagura, she’s a--” Tama starts.

“Don’t you say patron,” Kagura admonishes as she turns to the two of them, offering Yamazaki a wry smile and Tama a shake of the head.

“I was going to say ‘friend’”, Tama deadpans, and that actually warms Kagura’s heart, because Tama never lies. “Kagura-chan, this is my boyfriend, Yamazaki-san.”

“Right.” Kagura tilts her head to the side, then reaches out to shake Yamazaki’s hand. “Nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you, too, Kagura-san,” Yamazaki smiles back at her. “Tama-san has been talking about you, I mean, like a lot. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.” His eyes are curious as he watches her, seemingly taking in her appearance with some reverence. For a beat, Kagura wonders what it is he sees. Perhaps it’s the hair. She wears it up today, two buns on either side of her head neatly tied with black silk bands, keeping all but her bangs from falling around her face in its usual careless fashion. “I didn’t realise it’s also you--” he goes on, but is cut off by Okita’s lazy drawl.

“Yamazaki. I said we’d make this quick. There’s no time for chit-chat.”

“Of course. I mean. Yes, sir. Sorry, boss.” Yamazaki is immediately all excuses, straight-backed and sweat-dropping. 

Kagura scowls, and she unthinkingly swivels around to face Okita. “Oi, will you cut the guy some slack? You literally _just_ got here. Let him enjoy the company of his girlfriend for a bit, will you.” 

_Also, wasn’t it you who wanted a drink in the first place?_

Okita slants her a sideway glance, pausing with his glass lifted; one eyebrow raised in -- what? Amusement? Mockery? Scorn?

“Really, China? You think you’ve got a say in this?”

The cold, real contempt in his voice just burns Kagura’s already short fuse right up. She’s kind of thankful for the familiar surge of anger though, as it effectively eliminates the strange, utterly unbecoming, thudding inside her chest.

“I think--” she says, keeping her voice soft and low. “-- that I’m entitled to say and do whatever I please, here _._ You, on the other hand, would do well to shut the fuck up and behave like the guest that you are.”

Silence falls around the bar. Otose stops with her cigarette half-way to her mouth, Tama stares and Yamazaki gapes, raising two trembling hands in front of him like it’s him who’s said something unforgivable. Even the normally boisterous patrons at the other side of the room are quieting down and shifting about uneasily at the apparent shift in mood. 

It doesn’t bother Kagura.

Nor Okita.

“Hmmm?” He’s turning, slowly, facing her with one elbow still resting against the counter, and she registers the fact that Toshi has fallen asleep on his back. “You wanna talk about the way _guests_ should behave? Really?”

Kagura doesn’t like the way he’s dragging out the word ‘guest’. She wrinkles her nose. 

“Sure. Let’s. Then, let’s talk about when it’s appropriate to thank someone who’s been doing you a goddamn favour, shall we.”

“I don’t know, China. I might be ignorant, but thanking burglars must be a foreign practice, right? Is it how they do it on your planet?”

Kagura sighs, exasperated.

“You mean to say you still haven’t talked to Gori?”

“I don’t know any Gori.”

“Really? You don’t have a big burly colleague who looks deceivingly proper in a suit but is really just a gorilla stalker? In a suit.”

“That does sound like the superintendent…” Yamazaki tentatively emits from the sidelines, which earns him a sidelong glare from Okita, and a sharp snort from Kagura.

“The _superintendent_? That guy is?”

Yamazaki gives a nervous little laugh. Okita’s face remains cold. 

“What about it?”

“Nothing,” Kagura says in her loftiest tone. “Nothing at all. He’s the superintendent and you’re the DCI. Yup. Makes perfect sense.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Okita is annoyed. Kagura can sense the raw irritation in the air between them, and she’s a little alarmed by how thrilling she finds his fickle mood; she hasn’t expected this at all. 

Not alarmed enough, though. 

“Oh? Did I hit a sore spot?” She lilts, meeting his slightly narrowed gaze. “I didn’t realise you and him were such dear friends, but if that’s the case I figure you’re the one who should tell him.”

“Tell him what, exactly?”

“That he spends an unhealthy amount of time chasing a woman who’ll bring him nothing but heartache,” Kagura shakes her head, like it’s self-explanatory, then goes on tapping one finger against her chin, taking on a wise look. “Come to think of it, that might even be the best he can hope for. Actually, I can think of a myriad of others, less subtle, pains she’ll inflict on him on the way to heartbreak land.”

She has to steel herself not to look at Okita right away, but slant him a sly sidelong glance from under her lashes, and is only a little disconcerted by the look on his face. Inscrutable, again; crimson eyes brimming with some underlying emotion she can’t decipher, and she doesn’t really have the time to try, either, because he’s suddenly close. 

Way, way too close.

His hands are too, coming up to grab at the high-necked collar of her red dress in a way that could easily have been aggressive, but feels strangely gentle.

“How do you know?” His breath smells of mints, with a hint of alcohol and deep warmth. “That it’s not the other way around?”

Kagura frowns, wondering what he means for a beat, then forgets about it altogether as she meets his darkening eyes: a void of nameless excitement and sure-to-be regrets. His elbows are grazing her chest. She bites back a smile, and she wonders, as she keeps silent and patient under his heavy gaze, if he notices. 

How _not_ intimidated she is.

How much she wants to taste his breath. 

“I don’t.”

His eyes flicker to her lips. 

“Boss….”

“Kagura-chan?”

Right. 

Okita lets go of her; with some reluctance. Kagura feels the slow, hot drag of his fingertips over her collarbones, briefly, before he’s stepping back -- and it's like the entire bar takes a collective calming breath. Kagura is still humming with restless energy though, unsatisfied, and she wants to ask what the fuck that was about, but that’s when his phone rings.

“Yeah?”

Okita’s attention is directed away from her and everybody else within a split second as he turns to pick it up, just barely managing to hide the shadows shaping his face into someone who’s graver. Older. _How old are you, anyway?_ Kagura watches Okita’s back, frowning. The line of his shoulders is suddenly tense, somewhat forbidding, and he reminds her of someone. It doesn’t make sense. Nothing about him does. _Asshole._ She snorts, and turns back to her drink. Knocking it back in one go is wondrously soothing, the contents burns her throat and calms her mind, a bit. Her heart is still knocking off-beat against her ribcage.

Yamazaki gives a small cough.

“So the two of you… are, like,” he fumbles for words, looking at Tama for support, gains nothing. “So,” he starts over. “You’ve met.”

“Regrettably,” Kagura shrugs. Otose’s pointed gaze burns at the top of her head, but she doesn’t look over. 

“Oh,” says Yamazaki, and Tama puts her hand on his shoulder, gently shaking her head in a way of saying _best not ask anything else._

“Yamazaki,” Okita turns back to them, sliding the phone into the inside pocket of his suit jacket. His voice is unfeeling, formal. “I need a favour.”

“Huh? I mean, yes. Sir.”

“Take Toushirou for me.”

Kagura turns to see that Okita has unwrapped Toshi from his back, and is offering the sleeping bundle of a toddler to Yamazaki in a manner that leaves no room for questions. “I’ll be back for him later.”

“B-but sir, I’m not sure… I mean, I have never… I am really…? ” Yamazaki’s weak objections are ignored by Okita, who, after having swept in to plant a little kiss on Toshi’s forehead, straightens up and adjusts the sleeves of his jacket. 

“He’s in town. I thought I’d stop by and say hello,” he says, almost sweetly, and although the phrasing is annoyingly vague, Kagura can tell by the way Yamazaki flinches that he knows exactly what’s going on. He looks like he wants to say something, but Okita is already on his way, a couple of long strides and he’s out of the bar, without a backward glance or a single word of goodbye. They’re left with the muted sounds of the raging storm he unhesitatingly stepped out into, and the picture of the black umbrella, where it sits forgotten in the umbrella stand by the doors, looking lonely.

“What the fuck?” Kagura bristles, gesturing towards the door. “Is he serious?” She looks between Yamazaki and the door one more time, emphasising: “He just _ran off._ Without his kid. What the hell.”

“Ah,” Yamazaki looks like he still hasn't processed the recent developments, staring down at the toddler sleeping in his arms with a frozen expression, and Tama steps in quietly, easing Toshi out of his grip carefully. 

“Have a drink, Yamazaki-san,” she advises, while adjusting the sleeping child within her own arms. “I’m sure you need it.”

Yamazaki wordlessly complies, and Otose pours him a cup of sake, while shaking her head. Kagura exchanges a glance with Tama, who shrugs in a way that suggests that she really doesn’t know too much about it. 

“Is he always like this?” Kagura ventures, sliding up next to Yamazaki, thinking that she might as well try to get some answers out of the guy. He looks like he needs to talk about it. She pushes a bowl of peanuts his way, too, because snacks are always needed in times of unrest.

“More or less,” Yamazaki takes a grateful sip of sake. “I guess, yeah.”

“Some kind of workaholic, is he?”

“Well, no. It’s not that. Not really.” Yamazaki sighs. “In fact, he’s doing great at the bureau, he’s certainly cut out for the job, he’s got all the traits needed and then some, truly. It’s just that he lacks a bit in… how do I put it. Like, it’s not that he doesn’t care but… He’s got other priorities, so to speak, and they trump everything, even work.” Yamazaki shakes his head, looking suddenly repentant. “I shouldn’t be talking about this.”

“Oh, it’s fine,” Kagura assures him, glancing around the four of them, a suspicious-looking Otose included. “We’re all friends here. Also, didn’t I mention we’re like… him and I, we know each other. So yeah. Whatever you tell me I’m sure I’ve heard it already.”

Whether Yamazaki is too tired or too dumb to call her bluff, is not really clear, nor important, to Kagura, as he actually goes on.

“Then I guess you nurse the same suspicion I do.”

“Yeah. I’m sure,” Kagura nods, almost adding an impulsive _which is?_ before Yamazaki miraculously answers that question anyway.

“That call had nothing to do with work.”

“Exactly,” Kagura murmurs, knowingly. “It’s a case… off the record.”

“Yeah. I don’t know all the details, but,” Yamazaki shifts on his chair, looking deep into his drink. “I don’t think it’s good for him.”

Kagura tilts her head to the side, pretenses forgotten. Does Yamazaki really care about that jerk?

“How is that?”

“It’s gotten too personal,” Yamazaki looks grim. “He’s in too deep and that’s the truth of it. I’ve thought so since the beginning, but the superintendent won’t listen. Heaven knows he’s got a soft spot for Okita Sougo. He’s got a huge heart, but he’s also a fool, Kondou-san.” Yamazaki looks briefly like he’s aware of speaking out of line, then Otose smoothly refills his cup at Kagura’s minuscule inclination of head, and it’s encouragement enough. “Maybe Boss would have his way sooner or later anyway, though. When it’s about her, he just doesn’t give up. Come hell or high water, he just bulldozes his way through.”

“When it’s about who?” Kagura asks, unconsciously scooting her chair closer to Yamazaki’s so as to better hear him, her pulse speeding a little, but she’s not aware.

“Mitsuba-san,” Yamazaki sighs, and his shoulders slump visibly. “His sister.”

_Mitsuba._

There’s a chill to Kagura’s senses, she can almost feel the featherlight touch of fingertips along her spine, and the prickly sensation of goosebumps breaking out over her arms. 

Tama breaks in: “Did something happen to her?” 

“That’s one way to put it.” Yamazaki looks increasingly solemn, and he takes a deep swig on his drink, before explaining in a low voice. “She died.”

Kagura swallows a shaky breath, against a lump in her throat she can’t explain nor disregard. It’s _her,_ and a part of Kagura _knew_ this, because she’s seen this gentle-faced woman, in a picture, in a dream; and her sad gaze doesn’t belong in the world of the living. Yet it’s strangely unsettling, and the faces Tama and Otose are making are painting the fact with the harshness of reality, cutting at her consciousness like a newly sharpened knife. 

_Of course._

The stifling quiet hanging around them is broken by a small whine from Toshi, who suddenly twists within Tama’s arms. He blinks at them all, bleary blue eyes searching frantically for a familiar face, and Kagura feels his anguish like it’s her own. Out of the four of them, she’s probably the one with the most experience with small children, but this one is pretty easy to predict even to the uninitiated. Toshi gives a loud wail as the realisation dawns on him, screwing his face up at the horrifying fact that he’s surrounded by strangers, and the sound just tears at Kagura’s heart like nothing else.

She reaches for him out of sheer, deep-rooted instinct.

“Hush, come here,” she murmurs and Tama gingerly hands the toddler over, and maybe it’s because he recognises her voice and smell from the other day, or he’s just overwhelmed, but Toshi quiets down the moment Kagura cradles him close against her chest. He seems to have forgotten about her previous offences, luckily.

“There, there,” she hushes, rubbing soothing circles over his little back and fighting the sudden swelling in her chest that wants to push tears out her eyes for reasons she doesn’t understand. “He’ll be back. Don’t you worry, sweetheart.”

She glances over Toshi’s head at Yamazaki, who looks torn between alarm and relief, and gives him a smile she hopes doesn’t reveal every little thing she’s feeling.

“You’re off duty tonight, Sergeant.”

**. . .**

tbc.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 🎧 3. [Blau Blume - Sky ](https://youtu.be/X0IqroDBAS0)
> 
> ♥️ a little bit darker before the dawn, I think.


	4. delinquent

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I need to flag this chapter for graphic description of injury and treatment thereof, but if that isn’t enough to put you off, enjoy ;) 🤸♀️

delinquent

**. . .**

Seconds before the knock on the door is coming, Sadaharu bounces to his feet. Kagura’s heart gives a little start at about the same moment. It doesn’t matter that she’s been anticipating it for hours now, and that she’s mostly mad at this point; it still catches her off guard. _It’s past midnight, asshole. You think it’s alright to barge in at any time, huh?_ She swings the door open, words of reproach already burning on her tongue, “Hey, you, what do you think--“

She stops mid-sentence as she takes in his appearance. Sadaharu, who’s been trying to jump forward, prevented by nothing but Kagura’s strong legs blocking the doorway, stills at the sight of Okita, too, sitting down obediently next to her. His gentle animal spirit is emanating a mixture of concern and curiosity. Kagura is sort of battling the same feelings.

Okita is drenched. By the rain, by blood; his or someone else’s, one can’t be too sure, but for all he looks like, it’s a bit of both. Dark red is smeared across his cheek; a cut from a knife possibly, and it’s still trickling from a wound at his temple. His normally soft-looking hair is sticking to it, disheveled and damp. He rests his hands against his thighs for support, chest heaving with ragged breathing, dragging hard through his shoulders -- _have you been running here?_ \-- as he glances up at Kagura, gaze burning under sticky lashes.

“Is he okay?”

“Of course he’s okay,” Kagura huffs, narrowing her eyes as she looks him over. The suit jacket, which looked so impeccable only a couple of hours ago, is soaked and has been ripped at places, the white shirt blotted with gruesome red and dirt. To put it bluntly, he doesn’t look very much like a cop right now; but rather like a once well-dressed criminal. “You, on the other hand. You look like you’ve been to hell and back.”

“Something like that,” Okita admits, wryly, but Kagura is pretty sure there’s a flash of relief there, too, softening his scowl. “Where is he?”

“He’s sleeping,” Kagura says, in a way that doesn’t need the appendage: _what the hell did you think he’d be doing?_ “It’s the middle of the bloody night.”

She holds the door open in a manner that tells him he’s welcome to come to look for himself. Sadaharu gives a happy little bark. Okita straightens up, wiping some blood out of his eyes with the back of his hand.

“And yet you’re wide awake. What kind of a creature are you, China?”

“One of the night.” Kagura deadpans. “Who the hell are you to speak? You’re acting like you need an invitation and I don’t feel like having my blood sucked out of me tonight.”

“You sure?” Okita shakes his head and he’s actually smiling, now, white teeth flashing in sardonic amusement behind the red.

“Pretty damn sure.”

“Really, that’s a shame. Well then. Don’t mind if I do.”

And he does enter. Shouldering past Kagura and Sadaharu, he steps inside, into her apartment, and if there’s a part of Kagura feeling weird about this, she quickly forgets about it as he reaches down to untie his shoelaces. Somehow that gives her more pause; that little act of common sense when everything else about his actions is just, well, bizarre. _You’re practically dripping blood, you know._ She closes the door behind them and is about to point him in the direction of the bedroom, but he’s already on his way over, Sadaharu trotting happily in his wake.

“Oi. You two. Where are you going? You’re gonna wake them up.” Kagura sighs, but she knows it’s useless. She can tell by the way Okita moves with a sudden focus, forgetting to hide the limp to his stride, and although one doesn’t have to be a rocket scientist to figure out that the one room that isn’t the living room is for sleeping, it’s still amazing how he moves over there with such certainty. Perhaps he feels the presence of Toshi, somehow. Like Gin-chan’s essence of strawberries and trouble is embedded in her own subconscious, in some way.

She follows the unlikely duo into the dark bedroom and regards the silhouette of him, the man in the soaked and tattered suit, standing motionless by the cot bed, hands gripping the headboard. His back has lost some of its tension, shoulders sagging in relief or exhaustion, or a bit of both.

“They’ve been like that since I got home,” Kagura informs him quietly. “I was gonna make Toshi a bed of his own but in the end it just felt unnecessarily… heartless.”

Okita hums in something she assumes is agreement, and when he speaks, his voice is startlingly soft.

“I wasn’t expecting fish eyes to be like this.”

Kagura snorts, but it’s really more like a chuckle.

“Gin-chan has got the kindest of hearts. He’s no golden retriever though. It takes a while to get to know him.” She walks over to the cot bed, too, looking down at the sleeping toddlers. “Isn’t he the same?”

Toshi looks small where he lies nestled close to Gin-chan amongst the fluffy pillows, but he looks wondrously at peace, snoring softly with his face snuggled in against the other child’s shoulder, and Gin-chan has got one chubby little arm protectively wrapped around his back, his face buried in Toshi’s black locks. To be perfectly honest, Kagura’s not sure she would have been able to separate them even if she had wanted to.

“I guess,” Okita murmurs, and Kagura can’t help but steal a sideways glance at him, and she wonders at the unadulterated fondness displayed on his face, shining warmly under the layers of blood and indolence. “Toushirou is more of a terrier.”

“Then Gin-chan is a french bulldog. Lazy little sod,” Kagura smiles and turns from the bed. “Come on, we’ll wake them up if we stand here making sappy metaphors all night.”

Okita looks at her, and Kagura can’t tell if it’s a need to defy her or gratefulness flitting across his face for a beat, but then he shrugs. “If you say so, China.” He casts Toshi a last glance before stepping away from the bed, and obediently walks over to the living room area. Kagura follows after having slid the doors to the bedroom shut, and Sadaharu, seemingly content with the situation, goes back to sleep in his bed by the front door. _What now?_ She wonders. It’s strange seeing him in this familiar, homely setting of hers. He looks misplaced, yet oddly at ease where he stands in the middle of her living room, glancing around the colourful wallpapers and bookshelves adorned with plants and old books and objects of a world long lost. It’s almost like he’s about to say something nice, Kagura thinks, then he catches her eye, and smirks.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say this place belonged to someone quite refined.”

Kagura rolls her eyes, crossing her arms over her chest.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’ve been fighting.”

“Now, you didn’t tell me of your remarkable observation skills, China. Or should I call you Kuroko?”

“Says the guy who’s trying to use misdirection on me. Doesn’t work, you know.” Kagura says impassively, dodging the taunt. “Your ability to walk about like everything is okay even though you’re well and truly messed up is pretty remarkable, too.”

Okita cocks his head to the side.

“I see. More like Akashi, then.”

Kagura heaves a small sigh.

“Obviously.” She points at his leg. “You shouldn’t be putting any more strain on that, and you know it. The ankle is badly sprained. Also, you’ve got a stab wound to your chest in need of dressing. Possibly one or two ribs broken, to top it off.”

Okita grins, and there’s that spark in his eyes again, intense and searching in the way he looks at her, one hand coming up to press against said wound over the ripped fabric of his suit jacket.

“Something else?”

“Yeah. You’re bleeding all over my carpet, asshole. Go grab a towel from the bathroom and spread it on the couch. I’ll boil some water.”

If Okita feels like objecting, Kagura doesn’t care, nor wait for it to manifest as she walks over to the kitchen and busies herself with putting on water to boil and scrubbing her hands clean as can be. It’s the sound of his footfalls and the bathroom door opening and closing that tells her of his compliance. She turns to see him sit down on the couch in nothing but his shirtsleeves, leaning forward with his elbows resting against his thighs. There’s amusement in his eyes as he watches her approach with a bowl of hot water and more clean towels, as well as her first aid kit.

“You gonna patch me up?”

“What, you don’t think I can?” Putting down the utensils on the low table by the sofa, Kagura gives Okita a flat look while gathering her hair up, pulling it back in a loose ponytail to keep it from falling forward. “It’s me or a hospital, you know.”

 _And I have a feeling getting this officially registered is the last thing you want_ ; goes unsaid, but the words are hanging in the air between them, and Okita chuckles. The sound is abrupt and quite deep, like it’s involuntary, and Kagura watches in slight confusion as he tips his head back against the blue upholstery, running a hand over his face. His voice is unexpectedly low, as he murmurs: “No, I actually think you’re probably very capable of it, China.”

“Then shut up and take your shirt off.”

Kagura doesn’t have the energy to comment on his general rudeness, and as she watches him wordlessly obeying by wriggling out of his vest and the ruined shirt, other things take precedence, anyway.

Things like, he’s beautiful.

There’s no other way to put it, and although Kagura already has conceded to herself that his good looks are his one redeeming feature; seeing him without his shirt still gives her pause. _Damn._ He’s not by any means a bulky guy, he’s too slender for that, yet perfectly sculpted with lightly defined muscles, filling out his chest and back in a way that speaks of unquestionable strength, and to Kagura’s well-trained eye; inexhaustible stamina. She should be focusing on the still-seeping wound located high on his chest, just under his left collarbone, but it’s hard tearing her gaze away from the ripples of muscle down his abdomen, the coarse line of hair swirling around his navel and disappearing beneath the hem of his trousers--

“Not too pretty up close, huh?” Okita mutters, looking up at her from under his bangs, and Kagura realises that he has been misreading her reaction, the way she’s gone still and unblinking; thinking that she’s repulsed.

She shakes her head, too quickly. “It’s not that. You look fine.” She swallows a shaky breath. “You need stitches, though.”

Okita raises an eyebrow, and Kagura has to avert her eyes. She opens the first aid kit and sifts through the contents for longer than is needed in order to hide her face from him, because she can feel it burning, and that’s… well. _What the hell?_ Kagura inhales deeply, and ignoring Okita’s scrutinizing eyes, she leans in to examine the wound. It’s deep, but it’s a clean cut, which means it’ll probably heal nicely, if she just manages to reconnect the tissue at certain places. Okita smells of blood, and therefore, he needs to be treated, she needs to obstruct the blood flow and there’s that. Whatever other shit that smell on him stirs into existence within her chest; she won’t acknowledge.

_Focus._

Luckily, she’s got something like a mechanical ability of keeping her head cold when it boils down to it; she’s clear-sighted and calm and efficient when called for, and within this field, she certainly doesn’t lack experience. She draws upon that, as she presses her fingers lightly to the damaged area, feeling for the edges. This earns her a soft hiss from Okita but no verbal protests, and he keeps quiet all the while she rinses the open wound with a mild salt solution, then wipes the surface with clean gauze, and he’s regarding her in silence whilst she sterilizes the needle. She’s loath to admit it, but she’s actually kind of impressed with his calm demeanor as she puts on latex gloves, gathers up the tissue forceps and the needle driver, and sits next to him on the sofa, giving him a look that tells him to lean back so that she can get better access.

He cracks a small smile, but he does as he’s indirectly told, breathing a resigned: “Be gentle with me, China,” before closing his eyes. His head lolls back against the back of the sofa again, and Kagura, ignoring the way his throat looks all pale and vulnerable with some difficulty, carefully lines up the edges of the wound before she starts the slow, meticulous job of suturing it.

It’s not a comfortable feeling, getting stitches without the numbing agent, Kagura knows by experience; and she can tell by the way Okita’s breathing turns slow and controlled, that he’s fighting the pain with the force of his mind alone. Doubtlessly, he’s feeling the needle pulling the thread through his flesh with the razor-sharp awareness only intense physical pain can bring about, and although he’s good at hiding it, Kagura picks up on the minuscule signs of discomfort; the reflexive twitch of a nerve, the way he bites the inside of his lip, how his eyebrows draw together, slightly, slightly.

“So I guess I should be asking how the other guy’s faring?” She says by way of providing some distraction, and because she wants to know, too. Okita opens his eyes slightly to study her face, and she meets his narrowed gaze briefly, her eyebrows raised and lips curling, before looking back down on her hands. “Much worse, I suspect.”

“I wouldn’t know,” Okita’s voice is bland, yet Kagura can tell that the subject has awoken some kind of residual anger in him; it simmers hotly under his tone. “They were too busy trying to save their asses, running for it like a bunch of rabbits.”

“You say that like you were fighting a horde.”

“Yeah. Well.”

“How many?”

“I didn’t count. A dozen, probably. It doesn’t matter. I didn’t get him in the end, so it was pointless either way.”

Okita sighs, and Kagura bites her lip, wondering if she dares press on, then thinks _fuck it why not_ , and no one could ever accuse her of being a rabbit, at least.

“Him as in the guy you went to say hello to.”

Okita gives her a long look, wondering probably, how she knows that, and for a moment, Kagura thinks he might deny her any more information on the matter, but he actually goes on.

“That rotten coward must’ve been tipped off. He knew I was coming,” Okita’s countenance shifts from weary to dark. “He’d already left, and that’s just fucking like him. Hiding behind his underlings, or _anyone_ , in order to save his own pathetic skin.”

“Sounds like someone I used to know.” Kagura ventures, sensing an opening. She uses the scissors to cut away the excess thread, and Okita doesn’t react as she leans back to remove the gloves and look her handiwork over. It’s perfect. “What’s his name?”

“Kuraba Touma,” Okita says, after a moment, looking disgusted, like the name itself is poison. “A sorry excuse for a man without pride or honor, the kind to sacrifice everything and all for the sake of wealth, and I mean,” he pauses. " _Everything._ ”

Kagura studies his face. Her voice is all but a whisper as she asks:

“Someone’s life, even?”

Okita nods, a near-invisible inclination of the head telling Kagura all she needs to know. This Kuraba-guy is somehow responsible for Mitsuba’s death, and although she gathers that she’s on thin ice here, she dares one more question.

“Is he Toshi’s father?”

Okita’s eyes flicker to hers, and Kagura forgets to breathe momentarily. _You’re not denying it?_

“Yamazaki, the damn loose jaw.” He heaves himself upright on the couch with some effort, grimacing. “What did he tell you?”

“Nothing. Or at least, nothing like that.” Kagura scowls, deciding that honesty is the way to play this. “I had a hunch, is all.”

“A hunch.”

“Yeah, and judging by your reaction I’m not too far off the mark.”

Okita snorts.

“Are you done?”

His expression has gone as icy as his voice, and Kagura is annoyed to notice the abrupt, though not entirely surprising, change in his demeanor. _Really, this again?_ Is he angry or just scared? She can’t possibly tell, and he’s probably the worst case of hot and cold she’s ever encountered. In fact, why would she even put up with his bullshit? He makes _her_ angry.

Unreasonably so.

Righteously so.

“You know what. No. I’m not,” she says, surprised herself at the authoritative quality in her voice; it’s dropping low and hot like lava. ”You’re still bleeding from here.” She prods a finger to his temple, then one to his chest. ”And this needs bandaging. So if you could just sit tight like a good boy for a little while longer, I’d be much obliged.”

Again, she doesn’t wait for him to react, doesn’t leave him any room to object, but bluntly picks the towel back up, and resumes cleaning the area around the newly stitched-together wound with steady hands. She senses his burning gaze while doing so, as well as his lingering anger, and the tension frays at her nerves, too. A part of her expects him to push her off and leave, already. Unbidden, she has the fleeting vision of herself shoving him back down the sofa, forcefully, and climbing on top of him.

_Fuck._

Kagura shakes her head, feeling dazed. Focus is slipping precariously, hard to hold on to as her head swims with ungodly images of the possible outcomes of _that_ , and it’s frankly a relief to hear him sigh, in an _I guess I have no choice-_ kind of way, upon sinking back against the upholstery. _Okay._ He’s offering her surrender in this so there’s absolutely no reason for her to think of what might’ve happened if he didn’t.

Really.

_Honestly._

_I’m not,_ Kagura decides, opting for a neutral approach as she dresses the chest wound, then leans back in to look at the cut at his temple. This doesn’t need any sutures, it’s actually rather shallow, though it still bleeds a lot. The angle is awkward, and she needs to shift on the sofa to get better positioned to clean it, standing on her knees while dabbing the clean towel against his temple. It comes off dark red and grubby with dried blood and dirt, and she shakes her head, about to comment on how dirty he is, when she notices how… dirty she is.

Kagura freezes, towel pressed against the side of his face. Okita’s eyes are still closed, and she’s silently thanking Enma or whoever’s been listening, for that. Glancing down her own chest, she imagines she can see the movement of her heart thumping against her breastbone and the cold sweat gathering in pools at the dimples above her too-exposed collarbones, trickling down her thighs; she’s practically straddling him, for heaven’s sake.

_Oh, please._

She _is_ straddling him. Although still standing on her knees, she has gotten one leg on either side of his frame, hovering without making any real physical contact; blood rushes to Kagura’s face at the realisation. _Don’t you dare open your eyes, bastard._ She has moved on impulse, surely, only to get a better working position, not on anything less practical than that, but. Does she move away? _Please,_ an inner voice is telling her, scathing in mockery and purring glory. _You need to act unruffled here or he’ll suspect something._ Suspect what, she wants to scream back, but at who.

“Is there a reason you’re stopping?” Okita’s voice is deep, languid with amusement. “I was just starting to enjoy this.”

It’s enough to startle Kagura out of her momentary petrifaction.

“Yeah,” she inhales deeply, forcing her voice into a steady rise and fall of indifference. “I was just thinking that you reek. You should go take a shower when I’m done.”

It’s true; he does smell strongly of the fight, of violence, it’s coated rich and inescapable over the warm smell of his skin. Another thing that is true is that Kagura doesn’t hate it, but she sincerely hopes that he doesn’t pick up on that part.

“Yeah?” Okita smiles, opening his eyes a fraction, revealing darkly glittering orbs of red. Kagura can’t look away. “Are you done, then?”

She nods, wordless, feeling his gaze trailing flames over her skin as he takes in her position, but her limbs won’t move. Every part of her body feels heavy but also terribly light, and she’s becoming uncharacteristically self-conscious about the way she’s dressed; in light cotton trousers and a black tank top she usually wears around the apartment, she feels she could just as well have been naked as his eyes sweep over her chest, up her neck. They’re so dark she can hardly trace the red anymore, pupils blown wide and black and _ravenous._

“China.”

Okita says, and Kagura is drunk on the way his voice cracks with _what?_ What kind of emotion is he trying, or not trying, to convey? She can’t be sure as his hand comes up to her face, cupping her cheek, almost gently, fingertips brushing hot and tentative, gathering up some strands of red to push back behind her ear. It’s only that, light and seemingly innocent, yet it feels to Kagura like one of the most intimate things someone has ever done to her. _Why?_ Her heart is rampaging within her chest, and her own fingers frozen, one hand still pressing the towel to the side of his face, the other resting against the back of the sofa.

_This is no good._

She should pull back. She knows this, but it’s getting increasingly hard to move as she recognises the thinly veiled lust smoldering in his eyes, and there’s a rush of tingly excitement running along her spine at the thought of dropping her mouth to his. To feel his warm hand cupping her breast, instead of her cheek. What would it feel like, to lower her body, slowly, onto his lap? Is he hard, under his trousers? _Blackout._ A sigh, heavy and possibly quite wanton, escapes her lips, and -- _whoa_ \-- the reality of that sound is enough to break the spell.

Kagura gets to her feet, in too much of a haste to be anything like smooth and graceful, but it’s the only way to do it, and she discreetly brings her hand to her nose, making sure it’s not bleeding.

Okita groans. “You can’t--“

“I can,” she cuts him off, thankful for the way her voice holds steady and cool despite the way she’s flushed red; head to toe. The truth is that her body is responding to his voice, to the frustration, raw and profuse, and she has to turn around in order not to leap right back in. “Like I said, you reek. Go take a shower. I’ll make up the couch for you.”

There’s a moment of tense silence, in which Kagura busies herself with sorting the utensils, firmly ignoring the way his gaze burns heavy on her back, along the shape of her ass. Then, he sighs, and there are sounds of him doing as he’s told, sofa creaking, bones cracking, then his breath against her ear -- _damn your speed_ \-- “Much as I hate doing what you’re telling me to, I’m gonna play along for now.” He murmurs, and Kagura’s heart thuds hard at the way his lips almost-brush her neck. “Incidentally, a shower is exactly what I need.”

The bathroom door slams shut before she has collected herself enough to whirl around and chew him out, or kiss him, or both.

**. . .**

tbc.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 🎧 [Kyla La Grange - Cut Your Teeth (Flic Flac Edit) ](https://youtu.be/3wrzVnrDzxM/)
> 
> ♥️ I don’t know what I was thinking when I planned for this to be six chapters long... it’s, uhm, growing, so to speak.


	5. thief

thief

**. . .**

_“Emergency at work. Tell Shimura I’ll pick Toushirou up at 4pm.”_

That’s it, the whole note, the absolute entirety of it. No further explanations or instructions, and certainly no thank you. _Are you fucking kidding me?_ Kagura feels like ripping the paper into tiny shreds and screaming. Maybe stomping her feet, too, but she’s too old for that and she’s also got other things craving her attention. Things like trying to make two bed-headed toddlers eat their porridge, for starters.

“Hey, Gin-chan, stop that!” She chides, putting the note back where she found it on the kitchen counter with forced control. “Toshi doesn’t want any jam, can’t you tell?”

The problem is that Toshi doesn’t seem to want anything at all. Although Gin-chan is a bit forceful in his way of shoveling spoonfuls of strawberry jam onto his porridge, Kagura thinks that it’s probably out of concern. Because Toshi looks quite miserable staring silently down his bowl, not even moving to pick up his spoon or fight back when Gin-chan tries getting his attention by pulling his hair, and even Kagura can tell that’s out of character.

“Sweetheart,” she sighs. “I know this probably isn’t what you’re used to, but that doesn’t change the fact that you have to eat. Is it that you don’t like porridge? I mean, to be perfectly honest, I don’t think Gin-chan does either, it’s just that porridge means jam and then… Oh.”

Toshi looks up at her from under dark bangs, an expectant glint in his eyes. Kagura tilts her head to the side, repeating, “ _Oh_ ,” and he nods. She taps a finger to her temple, walking over to the fridge, thinking that she’s stupid not to have thought of it sooner, then that she’s a genius for having figured it out. And for having a well-stocked fridge, at all times. She finds the mayonnaise bottle at the far back of the top shelf, and spins around with it raised between her hands, smiling triumphantly.

“Ta-daa~!”

Cheers, hands clapping, toothy smiles. _You’re happy about this too, Gin-chan?_ Kagura grins, squeezing the magical ingredient over Toshi’s porridge. He digs in at the drop of a hat. Kids really aren’t hard to please, Kagura catches herself thinking. It would have been nice if grown-ups were half as easy to figure out.

She pours herself a cup of black coffee and sits on the bench on the other side of the table, regarding the children with her knees drawn up to her chest. They’re both enthusiastic about their breakfast now, and it’s quickly turning into an eating contest between them. Needless to say, the better part of the porridge ends up at places it shouldn’t be, but Kagura feels like it’s better to enjoy this little moment of almost-peace while it lasts, and leaves them to it. They’re having fun.

Her anger at Okita is actually abating, and as long as she doesn’t let her mind stray too close to the subject of last night; she’s alright. The fact is that she’s been sleeping like a log. Waking up and finding Okita gone and Toshi still sleeping soundly next to Gin-chan; it sure as hell struck a nerve, but she can’t say that she wasn't also a little relieved. She hadn’t thought she’d be getting even a wink of sleep, given the circumstances, and also because she usually sleeps light enough to rise to action at the sound of a needle dropping, like she’s been trained to. Consequently, she must assume Okita is either a ninja, or she’s been drugged. She refrains from giving the possibility of her feeling safe enough in his presence to sleep through it all any real thought, because… _No_.

Kagura glances toward the couch. It’s neatly made up, the sheets removed and placed in the laundry basket in the bathroom, cushions smoothed out and the blue fabric spotless; all traces of someone sleeping there well and truly gone. The clean clothes she placed on the table when he was in the shower; a set of black slacks and a turtleneck sweater are gone, too. Which means he must have put them on, and Kagura can’t help but wonder if they fitted, and what he was thinking, picking them up. Because he must have thought something, right, he must have-- or was last night just a surreal dream?

_Idiot._

Kagura facepalms. There’s still the note. Irritation resurrects, boiling in her blood instantly, and she’s thankful for how well-known and _understandable_ that feeling is. _Who does he think I am, his goddamn nanny?!_ She snorts, putting her coffee cup down hard enough for the contents to splash on the table. Gin-chan and Toshi pause in what has turned into a full-on food war, porridge-smeared little faces turning to regard her with reproach.

“Ah-ahn,” Kagura shakes a finger at them. “I don’t get why you’re suddenly in unison here but none of you is in any position to look at me that way. It might not seem it, but when I’m not your devoted servant I’m also a busy woman. With business to attend to.”

“Mama?” says Gin-chan quizzically, and Toshi raises his eyebrows, managing to look very skeptical for someone who’s not yet two years old.

“Yeah. Business.” Kagura emphasizes, flipping her hair over her shoulder as she rises from the table. She’s made her mind up. “But first, let’s get you troublemakers to the nursery.”

~

It’s a clear day, bright in the way it can only be after heavy rain. The sun is reflected in rows upon rows of identical windows on the high-rise building that is the Tokyo Metropolitan Police Department. Kagura stands looking up at the 18 stories tall, large wedge-shaped building with its cylindrical tower, thinking that it really looks quite impressive, if hopelessly dull; when she spots a familiar face by the entrance.

”Hey, Gori!” She calls out, and the tall man with a goatee and the blue suit, who’s been pressing his back against the wall like he’s trying to melt into it, whips his head around too quickly. “Why’re you acting like you’ve shit yourself?”

“China,” Kondou coughs. “I thought that might have been you.”

“You don’t have to sound so disappointed,” Kagura remarks, walking over to him. “Are you going in?”

“Eh,” Kondou looks like he’s forgotten he’s at his own workplace. “Right, yeah. I was. I mean,” he pauses. “I am. What about--“

“What a lucky coincidence. Me too,” Kagura smiles sweetly. “Let’s go then, shall we?”

Kondou looks baffled but follows Kagura’s confident steps as she walks up to the entrance, then smoothly stops to let him pass before her: “After you, Gori.”

They’re both aware that she looks to be his work associate as they enter the reception. Kondou is nodding customarily at various important-looking people passing them in the corridors, but no one comments on her presence.

“So, uhm, what brings you to the MPD?” Kondou asks when they stop by the lift.

“I’ve come to beat some sense into a colleague of yours.” Kagura deadpans, pressing the call button.

“Hahahahaha!” Kondou’s laugh is too high-pitched. “Good one! You’re funny, China.”

Kagura doesn't bat an eyelid. “A comedian, some call me.”

The sound of the lift arriving and the doors opening with a soft ding-a-long to reveal an empty cab is perfectly eerie. Kondou’s expression is shifting from forced merriment to strained alarm.

“I wonder who’s unlucky enough to have rubbed you the wrong way. Ahahah.” He looks over his shoulder as if willing someone else to come to join them, but the hallway is empty, and Kagura offers him an innocent smile.

“I guess it’s just you and me, Gori.”

“Ahaha, yes, that’s…” Kondou rubs the back of his head, still hesitant to move. “I don't know, a colleague of mine you say, uhm… who?”

“Oh, you know who.” Kagura steps inside the cab, beckoning Kondou to follow. “You also know that you owe me one. Swipe your card.”

Kondou’s arms fall to his sides. With an air of great resignation bordering on despair, he does as he’s told, mumbling “this ain't right, probably shouldn’t be doing this” under his breath. The doors close softly, deaf to his doubts, and an automated female voice is telling them they’re going to _"floor fourteen, floor fourteen"._ It’s quiet for about two seconds before Kondou speaks, fumbling for normalcy.

“You sure look different in a suit.”

Kagura raises an amused eyebrow.

“How so?”

“I don’t know. You’re taller, somehow.”

“That’s the thing about suits, isn’t it,” Kagura says with the smallest of smiles. “It’s really just a piece of clothing but it’s also really not. You could say the suit is the epitome of bravado; for those wishing to impose on others their power and beliefs, it’s just the perfect tool.”

“Tell me, China,” says Kondou, suddenly serious. “Why have you come disguised?”

“I haven’t,” Kagura replies, equally serious. “This is just one of my many work attires. Now, do you mind telling me the story of how Okita Mitsuba died?”

Kondou turns to look at her sharply, a new kind of apprehension carved into his frown. He looks like he’s about to say something when the lift arrives at the seventh floor, letting in more passengers, and his mouth is closing, turning into a thin line. He silently shakes his head, immune to Kagura’s scrutiny.

“Not here.”

 _Okay._ Kagura shrugs, and it’s not until they’ve exited the lift, heading along another long, uninspiring corridor, and Kondou stops to open the door to what is presumably his office, that she speaks again.

“I hit a sore spot.”

“You shouldn’t be saying her name like that.” Kondou ushers her inside, after having glanced about the deserted corridor several times.

“Like what?”

“Like, in that context. Especially not here.” Kondou sighs. After having closed the door behind them, he sits down behind a wooden desk, gesturing for Kagura to take a seat on the opposite side. “Let’s just say the subject’s not entirely uncontroversial.”

“What’s that supposed to mean? You’re being cryptic, Gori.” Kagura observes, sitting down. She can’t help but swivel the chair around once, taking cursory stock of Kondou’s unexpectedly tidy office. It's really very businesslike, what with the long rows of bookshelves and the wall behind the desk covered with diplomas and certificates. She feels like she for the first time can properly connect the image of the good-natured, love-struck fool she met outside the nursery with the grave man looking at her now, as she turns back to face him. The superintendent.

“I shouldn’t be talking about this.”

Kagura swallows a dry: _Funny, I heard an associate of yours say the exact same thing only yesterday,_ and settles with a level: “Why not? Is it better if I asked him directly, do you think?”

“You’ve been seeing Sougo?”

 _Sougo._ It’s still unusual, hearing his first name pronounced so casually, with the unvoiced affection of familiarity attached to it, and Kagura is unreasonably tempted by the idea of calling him that, too, but she won’t.

“Depends on what you mean by that. I’ve seen Okita, yes.”

“Did he say that his sister’s death wasn’t natural?”

“Not in so many words,” Kagura admits. “Still, I gathered there was something off about it. You know, contrary to popular belief, I’m not stupid. I can also tell when someone’s in pain. Regardless of the shape of that pain.” She looks Kondou dead in the eye, pressing her fingertips together as she leans forward with her elbows on the desk. “Now, spill the beans, Gori. Or I’ll tell Anego that I found her panties in your office.”

Kondou stares at Kagura in surprise for a moment, then he sighs. His eyes are smiling, though.

“Alright then. This is between you and me, China.” He gives her a meaningful look. “I count on you to scratch my debt out of your book after this. And perhaps put in a good word for me with Otae-san, too..?”

“Yeah, don’t push it,” Kagura admonishes, but she’s leaning forward in a manner that is in itself accepting all possible conditions, and Kondou leans back in his chair, taking a deep breath.

“Where do I start? At the explosion, probably. Yes. Some say, I mean, _most_ say, that it was an accident and that Mitsuba-san was just at the wrong place at the wrong time. And I,” Kondou pauses, shaking his head. When he speaks again his voice is laced with bitterness. “I was just like _them._ Like those well-meaning people who wanted to write her death off as a tragic twist of fate, sure, but also like them -- those uncaring higher-ups all too eager to do the same, sweeping it under the rug and labeling it an atrocious mishap of which none could be held responsible. The truth is that I didn't want to see it, either. It was easier to ignore Sougo’s rage. To chalk it up to him being blinded by it and driven to making mindless accusations out of bottomless grief, on the edge of losing his sanity even, like some were saying.”

“Easier than what?” Kagura asks, not acknowledging the way her heart squeezes at the implication of Okita hurting like that.

“Easier than acknowledging the cruelty of reality, I guess. The enormity of corruption, if you like.” Kondou grimaces, and for a split second, Kagura glimpses the reluctant cynical in him, hidden under layers of reliability and unyielding principle. “It’s difficult, trying to do the right thing, in a world ruled by money. I can’t say I’m proud of all the choices I’ve made, and until this day, I feel ashamed about the way I acted back then. In the end, I let him down. I let them down. The least I can do is help him now.”

“In what way?” Kagura inquires, though she can already sort of guess at the answer.

“Trying to locate the people responsible for the explosion,” Kondou says absentmindedly. “You know, I never thought I’d be able to convince him to come work for the MPD. God knows I’ve been trying over the years. We’re family friends, you see. I knew the Okita siblings from growing up down in Wakayama, Mitsuba-san was always an angel, hard-working and well-liked by everyone crossing her path. Sougo was an insufferable brat, I don’t mind telling you; way too protective of his sister, especially after their parents passing, he’d lash out at anyone trying to approach them, like a ferocious guard dog. Me, he accepted though, for some reason I never understood. I used to be proud of that.” Kondou’s expression is one of bittersweet reminisce. “When I started my training with the NPA, I wouldn’t see them as often, but when I did go back, I noticed a change in him. A determination of sorts, to shoulder a responsibility he was far too young for, to follow me, in order to protect his sister, I suspect. I actually think that might’ve been my biggest crime, to have once encouraged him to walk down this path of violence and lies, I shouldn’t have. He could’ve been anything, you know, with a mind like that. A baker, even. Just like his late father, bless his soul.”

 _That doesn’t make sense,_ Kagura thinks but doesn’t say, and instead waves her hand in front of Kondou’s face. “Gori, you’re digressing. I’ll buy you a drink at Otose’s one day and we can go down any old road you want. But for now, I’d like you to stay on the Mitsuba-track, alright?”

“Yeah, yeah. Sorry about that, where was I?” Kondou sniffs, rubbing at his eyes. “The explosion, right. Sougo has always been convinced it wasn’t an accident and reevaluating the records now, I’m sad to say that he’s probably right to have been suspicious from the start. It’s clear that the building Mitsuba-san was at had been the nest of some seriously fishy activity. Money laundering, storing contraband, or something of the sort; drug-related most likely, but it was never proven for sure. The whole place was blown up before anything could be, and no proper investigation was initiated afterward. Which in hindsight makes it all even more suspicious. Whose discretion is valued higher than the life of Okita Mitsuba and the truth of how she died?” Kondou closes his eyes. “One can only thank whichever god is watching over us that Toshi wasn’t with her on that day.”

Kagura exhales slowly. Mitsuba’s pleading gaze from within her dream is making more sense than ever, and it hurts strangely to know the loss of someone she never knew. Okita’s older sister. Toshi’s mother.

“How old was Toshi when it happened?”

“Only a couple of months,” Kondou shakes his head morosely. “He won’t remember her, it’s sad but maybe for the best. Sougo is his world now, as well as he’s everything to Sougo. All that he has left,” he explains as he notices Kagura’s questioning look. “They moved here shortly after Mitsuba-san’s funeral. She was his last tie to that place, I suspect.”

“And the father, he just…” Kagura bites her lip, words tasting like fury. “-- let that happen?”

“The father didn’t care, either way, I’m afraid.” Kondou frowns. “Long story short, he wasn’t the man he pretended to be when he and Mitsuba-san met. Sougo smelled a rat, and investigating the matter he discovered that Kuraba was involved in some bad business down south, connected to certain crime syndicates in Tokyo. Sougo was the one who flushed him out, causing him to break his engagement with Mitsuba-san, who was already pregnant by then, and disappear. He never wanted anything to do with Toshi.”

“Fucking coward,” Kagura hisses, and she’s surprised herself at the force of the white-hot rage flooding her veins. She wants to bash someone’s skull in, that’s how angry she is, and she’s normally not this easily agitated, not anymore. “What is it with men and acting all boastful and fearless, then they run for it at the sight of one single baby?”

“I’m not sure it was the sight of the baby as much as that of Sougo,” Kondou says, humorless. “He can be… quite scary when angered.”

“You don’t say.” Kagura gets to her feet. “Where’s his office?”

~

It turns out that Okita isn’t at his office. A stubby assistant informs Kagura, who’s been following Kondou’s vague directions to an adjacent department, upon adding an unnecessary: “And even if he was present he doesn’t wish to be disturbed today.”

“He’s the one disturbing me,” Kagura complains, but she turns to make her exit in the end, weaving her way through busy office landscapes and more narrow corridors, endless and strikingly normal. Just like Okita’s house, this is just another workplace, really, she reflects as she walks toward the lifts. Then, _maybe it’s for the best_. To be perfectly honest, she’s probably a little bit too wound up to be interacting with him at the moment; she has all but forgotten why she came in the first place. _Why did I?_ Kagura is resigned to the idea of leaving matters to be dealt with another day, with a cooler head, when she hears a female voice calling her name.

“Kagura-sama?”

Kagura stops and turns around stiltedly. A pretty woman is approaching. The dark blue hair is tied back in a tidy bun, but the bangs -- evenly trimmed above a set of large, dully red eyes -- are just the same as she remembers them. Something churns and flips over in Kagura’s stomach, and she has trouble fighting the impulse to bolt, or better yet; just deny having ever heard of anyone going by that name. She can’t, though.

“Nobume,” she breathes, heart wrenching.

“It really is you.” There is light in Nobume’s eyes, making them look almost alive. “I heard-- I mean… I thought you weren’t--“

“I know,” Kagura cuts her off, then adds in a quieter tone, looking at Nobume from under her lashes. “I’d like for it to stay that way.”

Nobume meets her gaze searchingly for a beat, then tilts her head to the side.

“If you say so, Kagura-sama. Though I’m sure there are people who’d be happy knowing you’re okay.”

“I’m not so sure about that.” Kagura shakes her head, brushing the implication off. “What about you? Why are you here?”

 _Did they send you here?_ Almost tumbles out of her mouth, as well, but she manages to stop herself.

“Oh. I work here.”

“You _work_ here?” Kagura coughs, incredulity dragging the words out, and Nobume nods, something like a smile touching her eyes, before she averts them, confusing Kagura briefly. Then, she senses his presence and it all makes sense.

“This might come as a shock to you, China, but most people do.” Okita’s lazy drawl is resounding next to her ear, grating at nerves and heartstrings alike. He comes up to lean against the wall opposite her, just next to Nobume. “Work, that is.”

Kagura swallows a petulant need to object, forcing her agitation back down where it can simmer without causing her to lash out, and lets out a sigh that is almost sweet. She takes great care not to look at Okita, but traces Nobume’s once familiar features instead.

“I can only hope for your sake, Nobume-kun, that working here doesn’t require you to follow this arrogant wanker’s orders.”

“Well,” Nobume is finally smiling, a part shy, part daring curve to her lips. “Sometimes.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. It can’t be easy working for someone like him,” Kagura shrugs, glancing at Okita at last. She immediately regrets doing so. Of bloody course, her heart’s acting up at the sight of him -- seemingly in surprisingly good shape, even if his posture is a little stiff, his eyes are alert and most of the bruising is covered by sandy bangs. He’s in the clothes she borrowed him, the fabric of the sweater pulled tight across the expanse of his chest, and black slacks hugging his muscular thighs in a way that is probably bordering on uncomfortable for him, but a downright delight for everyone else, presumably. Well, definitely. _Dammit._ “--who’s got serious issues when it comes to showing gratitude,” she adds, tearing her gaze off him to redirect it at Nobume, who looks a little perplexed, if curious.

“Now when you mention it, he doesn’t say thank you very often. If ever.”

Okita cuts in before Kagura has the chance to agree, or add to the list of his many faults.

“You two know each other?”

“We’re actually--” Nobume starts.

“Ex-lovers.” Kagura intercepts swiftly, deciding to play it by ear. “It’s that, though we haven’t met for a while, so yeah. Hence my surprise.”

“Kagura-sama…” says Nobume, and Kagura sees the red blossoming up her neck, but she can’t really stop now.

“It was really nice seeing you again.” she smiles at the other woman, fixing her gaze to hers, making out widening red and dawning comprehension. Ignoring the way a voice in the back of her head is screaming _what the fuck are you doing?!_ Kagura drops her eyes, allowing them the pleasure of traveling over Nobume’s chest, along the tiny row of buttons down her elegant blouse and the delicate curve of her hips. “Really nice.”

“I’m -- I--,” Nobume stutters a little, before collecting her bearings and replying. Warmth is seeping into her tone as she lowers her head to look at her hands. “It was really nice seeing you too, Kagura-sama.”

“Yeah.” Kagura smiles, surprised herself at how well that worked out. “Now, I really must go. Have a good day.”

And she turns to walk away. _Just walk. Don’t look back and everything will be fine._ She’s almost at the lifts when she hears him call out.

“China.”

_Nope._

Kagura ignores him, because something in his voice is commanding her to turn back, and her blood is reacting to the deepness of it, but that’s also a perfectly good reason for her to keep walking. She’s relieved to find the lift already waiting for her, the cab empty, and she hastily steps inside, pressing the down button.

_Not sure what happened there but I think I got off scot-free. Now, I just need to--_

The doors have all but closed behind her when he pushes his shoulder through the gap, grimacing because it probably rips at the sutures. _So fast._ Kagura winces out of concern, out of surprise; of having her heart suddenly caught in her throat, obstructing her intake of air and rationality.

“You shouldn’t,” she tells him, not sure whether she’s talking about the stitches or something else. Okita’s reply renders it insignificant either way.

“I don’t care.”

The doors are closing again. Kagura sees eyelashes, impossibly long and lowering over deeply burning red, registers the shape of him moving closer and that’s all.

_So. This is how you kiss me._

It might be her pulling him, or him, pushing her; Kagura’s not sure. Her back is pressed hard against the inner wall of the cab all the same, and she’s possibly the one reaching for his neck, he’s presumably the one dropping his mouth to hers, bringing about an all-consuming shockwave of heat. _Fuck._ Kagura loses track of reality, briefly, at the taste of his desire, hot and implacable, it’s too good to be fair. _Why are your lips so soft?_ Just like she’s imagined, he kisses like a god, or better yet, a demon, all hot sweeping tongue and sharp teeth, and that’s more than she can resist.

The lift is jerking slightly, indicating an impending stop and Okita pulls back to speak into her ear, voice a husky mess. 

“How’s that for a thank you?”

There is no time for her to reply. In fact, there’s no time for anything but for them to pull apart as the stop at the third floor is announced. Truth be told, if she had been anyone else, or if he had; there probably hadn’t even been time for that. By the time the doors open to reveal a small group of people waiting to get in, Kagura and Okita stand motionless next to each other, faces neutral masks and clothes smoothed out to perfection.

“Later, China.”

Okita pushes his way out of the narrow space of the cab, disappearing in the crowd, just like that, and Kagura is left cursing under her breath, heart racing. She has trouble deciding whether something was stolen from her just there, or if she in fact willingly gave it away.

It’s making her angry either way.

**. . .**

tbc.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 🎧 [SOKO - Who Wears The Pants??](https://youtu.be/Nq7dTTodmgc/)
> 
> ♥️ so I couldn’t resist the elevator trope and neither could Sougo, apparently ;)


	6. knight

knight  
 **. . .**

“I can’t believe you used to work here.” Kagura glances about the busy cabaret club, then turns back to Tae, smiling. “It’s so classy.”

“You’re saying I’m not classy?” Tae raises an amused eyebrow, and Kagura shrugs.

“It’s just that it feels like you and Shin-chan have been running the nursery since forever, I guess. You’re so _at home_ there, it’s difficult imagining you’ve ever done anything else.”

Tae gives a wry little smile, picking up her cup of sake. “I know. I feel a bit like that, too. I was actually still working part-time here though, the first two years, before we got everything up and running properly… It might be hard to believe but I was the top hostess here.”

Kagura grins. “Are you kidding? Not at all.”

In fact, Tae’s former position at Snack Smile is evidently solid enough to offer them the best table at the club. They sit in a booth apart from everyone else, yet in the very center, so they’re still able to watch the comings and goings of a wide variety of patrons and businessmen, none of which have yet dared to show them even the slightest sign of disapproval. Kagura’s not sure, but she’s got a distinct feeling that the beautiful blonde serving them isn’t your average hostess either; the very embodiment of elegance and tact she moves about them silently, pouring them drinks upon leaving the bottle of sake on the table at some microscopic sign of Tae’s that Kagura doesn’t see. She’s not blind to the way all the hostesses look at her friend, though. With awe, mingled with terror, like she’s a living legend; the entire club is somehow breathing of Tae’s loving, but undoubtedly strict, rule.

“So how’s work for you, Kagura-chan? Is it wearing you out?” Tae smoothly steers them into a new subject; one that Kagura isn’t entirely comfortable with.

“It’s alright. Just a bit intense lately,” she says, knowing full well that she’s being evasive, she keeps her attention fixed to the cup of sake in her hand, trying not to sink it right away.

“How so?” Tae asks levelly, and Kagura knocks her drink back anyway.

Although it’s not unusual for the two of them to go out drinking, she has the nagging suspicion that Tae’s formidable intuition is part of the reason they’re out tonight. That might also be why Shin-chan’s been excluded, something he initially complained about, but which Kagura thinks is more of a conditioned response in line with his character, than actual disappointment. She knows that _he_ intuitively knows that he’s better off babysitting Gin-chan than being with her and Tae tonight. As it happens, none of them is known to be abstemious.

“Nothing big, it’s just…” Kagura looks at her hands, spinning the now empty cup between them. “You know the feeling when you notice something small is amiss and you think you’re gonna fix it real quick? But once you do, you realize that the more you poke about the bigger it becomes and there is in fact no way for you to fix it, nor make it as small as it was in the beginning. That, feeling.”

“I’m not sure. Do I?”

Kagura feels Tae’s gentle eyes boring into her, and is compelled to lift her gaze, offering her a stubborn look from under her bangs.

“What.”

“You care to elaborate a little on that?”

“You’d be bored out of your mind hearing me talk about it.”

“Why don’t you try? I’m one hell of a listener.”

“I know. It’s still-- no.”

“You’ve got a pretty bad cut on your arm, Kagura-chan.”

 _Dammit._ Kagura instinctively pulls her sleeve down her underarm, completely and utterly in vain, of course.

“This, huh? You might not think so but Gin-chan’s pretty skilled with his wooden sword, and one day…” she trails off at the sight of Tae’s face; still smiling, with a dangerous edge to it. “I got careless in a fight.” Kagura relents, frowning. “I underestimated one of them, and that butterfly knife came out of nowhere, grazing me. The fucker having the audacity--”

“Kagura-chan. What brought this on?”

Textbook Tae. Wise Tae. Focusing on the source of the problem instead of picking up on any of the red herrings Kagura has strewn about.

“Nothing in particular.” Kagura heaves a resigned sigh and reaches for the bottle of sake, pouring both of them another. “Habits of old, maybe. A lapse in judgment. One idiot in a suit who’s supposed to be a cop but acts like a gangster. Take your pick.”

Truth is, it’s probably an even split between the three. That day she went to the MPD headquarters might’ve been the onset; Kondou’s revelations, Nobume’s startling appearance, the feel of Okita’s heat, his soft lips against hers -- there is no denying some kind of restlessness had been rekindled then and there. Still, Kagura knows that she can't really blame anyone else for her inherent penchant for danger, and the decision to accept this particular job offer was hers alone. A job less likely to kill her brain cells off, while keeping them busy enough not to overthink _things in general_ , what could be better?

“I assume you’re not in it for the money, then,” Tae states, subdued.

Kagura shakes her head. “I’ve been a bit on edge, is all.”

She hasn’t really done any collecting jobs since she got Gin-chan. Not because of Otose’s admonishments, or for a lack of time even, but because of her own subconscious instincts; she had wanted to stay away from the Tokyo underworld for a while. It had proven easy, once she had Gin-chan to care for, his overwhelming need for her attention and her instant love for him had overshadowed just about everything else, rendering it pretty much meaningless. Living on the edge of constant danger was certainly one of those things.

“Who’s the client? Someone I know?”

“I doubt it. No one does, really,” Kagura explains with a shrug. “She communicates solely by phone or messengers. I used to work for her when I first came to Tokyo. Never seen her face.”

Tae raises an eyebrow.

“Please don’t tell me you’re talking about the Courtesan of Death?”

“I might be.”

“Kagura-chan.”

Tae’s voice is dripping with reproach, and not without reason. This client; _The_ _Courtesan_ for short, is rumoured to be ruling the city from behind the curtains. She’s got eyes and ears _everywhere_ , be it at the local grocery store or at the inner network of the most powerful yakuza clans. Her motives and operations are largely obscured, but it’s common knowledge that she’s running high-stake poker games amongst the filthy rich and infamous, no matter which side of the penal code they’re at, and so consequently has got a fair amount of claims across town. Kagura doesn’t care too much about the details or the fine print on her job description as such; she’s perfectly content being used as a pawn for this purpose since it gives her the perfect opportunity to let off some steam. The list of indebted is long and abundant in unpleasant types; just like Kagura prefers it. She has less reason to hold back, that way.

“I know, I know,” Kagura mutters, crumbling under Tae’s sharp gaze. “As I said, it was a lapse in judgment. I’ll only finish what I’ve started, then I’m getting out, once the job is done. I’ll be alright.”

“I sincerely hope so, Kagura-chan,” Tae pauses, cocking her head to the side. “What about him?”

“Who?”

“The idiot in a suit, I believe that was your phrasing, not mine, but,” Tae says, patiently. “The one you can’t stop thinking about.”

“It’s not like that,” Kagura objects, too quickly, and she can feel her face go up in flames at the implication. “Gods, he’s just being a giant asshole, that’s why I said that, really--“ The cup is spinning fast between her fingers again. “I don’t care _that much_ about him.”

“Really. So when was the last time you saw Okita-san?”

 _In an elevator cab with his hands in my hair._ She doesn't say.

“I don’t know, it’s been a while. Two weeks, give or take. Oi--” Kagura pauses, looking suspiciously at Tae. “How do you know it’s him we’re talking about? And can you people stop calling him ‘Okita-san’, it hurts my ears.”

“Have you forgotten I’ve gotten one of those idiots to deal with, as well?” Tae sighs, but there’s warmth in her eyes. “I know the two of you are clashing, that part is obvious, I just don’t think it’s necessarily all bad.”

“Trust me when I say it’s really mostly all bad.”

 _Bad in a pretty good way_ , that annoying little voice of veracity is lilting in the back of her head. _Please._ It’s not that she doesn’t see it, she does; that stupid flame between her and Okita, a tension running so high it can’t possibly be _nothing_ , but Kagura refuses to label it _something_ because it’s clearly born out of a mutual dislike for each other, and so is best left undealt with. Just good old hatred having accidentally tipped over into attraction, nothing to be antsy about. Probably. _Just don’t scratch it and it’ll go away._ That’s how she’s gonna tackle this, although it's admittedly new to her, because when did she ever restrain herself come this kind of thing?

And that’s just it. With literally _anyone else_ she would have gotten it over with already; if only for the sake of stress relief. In this case, that doesn’t seem like a plausible solution. Not because she doesn’t _want_ to, heaven knows she’s not opposed to the idea; her body’s standpoint on the matter is indisputably clear, Okita’s touch is obviously like gasoline and honey to her blood and skin. On a rational level, however; she’s one hundred percent sure it would be a terrible idea to sleep with the bastard. Moreover, who’s to say that Okita wants to? Has she any way of telling what goes on in that annoyingly pretty head? _Oh, please. Someone doesn’t kiss like that without_ wanting _to_ , the voice of sardonic crudity is back, dragging the words out for her to consider. _He wants you to beg for it, though._

Well, that’s _not_ happening.

“Kagura-chan, you’re blushing.”

“I’m not,” Kagura protests, hurriedly pouring herself another cup of sake. “I might be the tiniest bit drunk though. Is that allowed?”

“You usually hold your liquor really well.”

“Knock it off. I’m seriously not talking about this anymore. If you want to talk about _matters of the heart_ so much, why don’t we talk a little about Gori? He called you _missus._ ”

“He did _what?_ I’m gonna kill--” A pause. “I don’t know any Gori.”

“Really, Anego.”

The night continues in this fashion. Equal parts seriousness and teasing and laughter between drinks; Kagura relaxes, happy with simply being slightly inebriated in good company. She has to give it to Tae, she hasn’t even been aware of how tense she’s been lately, she can feel her muscles softening along with the warm sensation of the alcohol swirling about her veins, in a way of saying _everything’s gonna be alright_ , and it’s been a good while since she’s felt this content.

In the end, that’s where she slips. The pleasantly distracted state of mind brings her off her game, in a setting where she would have normally been watchful; and they catch her off guard. In the disguise of regular patrons, these dark-clad men wouldn’t have been easy to spot anyway, but a stone-cold sober Kagura would have smelled them out, and that’s the truth of it.

The atmosphere in the club is shifting in the time it takes for Kagura to place her cup on the table; it goes from lightly amicable to darkly ominous, and the group of men and dense shadows are quickly closing in around them. The hostesses, Kagura notices, have all fled, even the barmaid is nowhere to be seen. Which is probably for the best. Tae seems to be thinking the same thing. She’s tensing up on the other side of the table, but keeps tactfully quiet, processing the _let me handle this_ -look Kagura shoots her with impressive calm.

“I don’t know why, but I figured you’d be bigger.”

The leader of the pack makes himself known by stepping forward, all smirks and put-on air, greasy black hair slicked back in a way that reminds Kagura of a million other wannabe yakuza she’s met during her years in Tokyo. He sits down next to her in the booth, one arm sliding provocatively along the back of her seat, just shy of touching her shoulder. The others remain standing, looming and faceless.

“The way the talk goes, one would think you were some kind of monster,” he continues with a nasty laugh, revealing an uneven row of yellowing teeth. “But here you are -- a tiny girl in a qipao. A looker, I’ll admit that, but still. Just a girl.”

Kagura gives the man a placid look.

“This is too much of a cliché,” she says, after a moment’s consideration. “I don’t wanna have this conversation.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” the leader drawls, leaning close enough for Kagura to smell the cheap cigarettes on his breath. “Did you think we came here to talk? You must have misunderstood. We don’t do _talk_ well, us Bush Boys.”

A derisive cackle is rising among the gang members surrounding them, and Kagura leans back in her seat, glancing about the half-shadowed faces.

“Doesn’t ring a bell, does it,” she taps a finger against her chin, then looks over at Tae. “How about you, Anego? Did you hear of them?”

“I can’t say I have,” Tae shakes her head, looking serious. “It’s not easy, I suppose, for aspiring boy bands nowadays. The Tokyo scene is already so crowded. Also,” she leans towards Kagura, stage-whispering. “-- You know the idol industry is all about the looks, no matter how talented you are…” Tae makes a face like it’s truly sad business. “Well.”

“Well, indeed,” Kagura agrees, solemnly, shaking her head. “It’s a classic case of mothers doing their sons a disservice; praising them out of misguided kindness although they much rather wanted to watch a rerun of Shinjuku Housewifes than hear them sing.”

“We don’t sing! We’re the _Bush Boys_.” A nerve twitch at the leader’s eyebrow. “Why won’t you listen? I _said_ we didn't come to _talk._ ”

Kagura blinks, slowly.

“No?”

“ _No._ Just like you didn’t come to _talk_ to our Roko-san the other night.”

So that’s what this is about. Kagura tilts her head to the side, feigning thoughtfulness. She hardly remembers, but she thinks Roko-san might be one of the guys who’s been blatantly refusing to pay back what he owes the Courtesan on the account of her being a fucking *****, in favor of spending the money on more willing *****s. Needless to say, making him pay had been pure pleasure.

“Your friend is he? Well, _Roko-san_ had debts to pay. Any responsible adult knows what happens if you don’t pay your debts.” Kagura reaches for the sake bottle, pouring herself and Tae another cup while offering the leader a frank look from under her bangs. “Is that all? Because if it is, I think it’s high time for you and your bushy boys to step along.”

The leader looks at her in what appears to be genuine wonder, teetering on incredulity. “What?”

“Do I need to spell it out for you? A mom’s night off is sacred, I’d have thought that, at least, to be common knowledge. You’re committing a crime even texting a mom on her night off. What do you think this would classify as?” Kagura gestures at the dark figures around them. Mentally, she has since long taken stock of all of them -- a grand total of 32 lowlifes shuffling about in the shadows -- as well as every weapon that may or may not be hidden under their clothes.

The leader is frowning, seemingly still not grasping the seriousness of the situation. So, Kagura must enlighten him. “ _Blasphemy_ ,” she stresses, and dammit; she feels the first prickles of anticipation, the initial and forbidden longing for a fight, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth though she struggles to remain expressionless.

The Bushy Boy-leader pulls back a little, then snorts in an attempt to look unruffled. “Don’t mistake me for Roko-san, girl. He might be blabbering about having seen a demon, but I’m not half as delusional.” He leers at her, his upper lip curling in distaste. “And you’re not half as smart as they say you are. Picking a fight with us… Let’s just say. It’s not a very good idea.”

“They say I’m smart?” Kagura flicks her hair over her shoulder; unable to repress the manic grin from breaking through any longer.

“That’s--“ the leader sputters, shaking his head. “Why would you focus on that part? _No,_ I’m saying you’re really dumb but I guess words just don’t cut it with you. So,” he smirks like he’s stricken with a brilliant idea, and Kagura watches him nod at one of the goons surrounding them. A bulky guy with a hopelessly outdated mohawk immediately slides into the booth, just next to Tae. “You’re friend’s very pretty, too,” the leader goes on, silkily, and Kagura must admit; he’s a little bit smart for getting the part about threats directed at her person having no effect.

Otherwise, she stays unimpressed.

”She is.” Kagura agrees, meeting Tae’s unwavering gaze over the rim of her cup.

“She’s hot as hell.” The guy with the mohawk moves right into Tae’s personal space, placing a large hand on her thigh, squeezing it suggestively. “What’s her name?”

“Oh, that’s Anego,” Kagura smiles, watching that hand with pity. “She goes by many names though. I believe you, particularly, shall know her as Death.”

Death has Mohawk Sleazebag in a heap on the floor faster than it takes for any of the ingrates gathered to process the words spoken. Kagura springs to action at the same time; starting by head-butting the greasy-haired leader right back to hell. He falls to the floor clutching his bleeding nose, yelling obscenities Kagura doesn’t hear as she finally gets to her feet, rolling her shoulders back.

“Jeez, that went on for too long. Sorry about that, Anego,” she says, positioning herself between Tae and the rest of the pack. “Would you please step back just for a moment? I have this urge to clean up around here and I need someone to watch my back.”

“Of course, Kagura-chan. You do your thing.” Tae uses one foot to send her unconscious molester disgracefully rolling off, wiping her hands on a napkin as she steps back into the booth. “I’ll be right here.”

Kagura is secretly relieved. Whether Tae calls her bluff or not won’t matter, the most important thing is that she stays out of _this._ This absolute shitfest is of her own making, and she wouldn’t care so much if she had been alone. In fact, she’s not overly concerned about their numbers, nor the implications made about vengeance, but the thought of them reaching Tae, _that’s_ unsettling for real. Now, as they come at them, after a moment of stunned silence -- from all directions, more or less at once -- it’s the one thing on Kagura’s mind. Her strong, kind-hearted, brave aneue; they can’t be allowed to touch her again. No, they’re not coming near her, actually, if they so much as breathe in her direction…

Kagura is seething; with a determination to stop them, surely, but it’d be a lie to say there isn't a small but essential part of her feeling a little bit elated; at the prospect of k-- _knocking_ these idiots out cold. Knocking them out, so that Tae can make a safe escape from here, that’s really all she needs to do, but it’s _such a relief_ to finally act on her pent-up fury. To stretch her limbs out, whirl around and meet the attackers head-on, one flat hand connecting with a hard chest, the other curled into a fist meeting a stubby chin, her heel propelling sharply into someone’s belly -- sending three of them flying in different directions, and it’s probably overdoing it _just a wee bit,_ but who the hell cares at this point?

That line of thought, exactly; that detached attitude towards violence in general, is dangerous in itself, Kagura is distantly aware. Someone once told her this with the utmost gravity but she’s preoccupied with the reality of _defending_ herself and Tae because really, she must, dodging a punch by dropping low, upon taking him out by a low sweep of her legs, flat hands steady on the floor; then using them for leverage to push herself up, and _oops_ , her elbow sharply connects with someone’s throat, causing them to gurgle and topple over, the back of her head smashing into another’s face… and the dance goes on.

She fights them as they come, one by one, or several at the time, it’s not really a problem as much as an old, hauntingly familiar arena to her. Close-quarters combat is her forte, the grappling and the punches frequently used shortcuts imbued to her muscle memory; this, she could do in her sleep. Lost to the beat, the heavy, compelling tune of the fight pounding steadily in her veins, blocking out the non-essentials and channeling all her attention to the task at hand; the oncoming, incessant flow of attackers. No matter how many of them she drop-kicks into the walls, chokeholds into oblivion, or punches down the dirt, though, they keep coming, and Kagura is just starting to wonder if these seemingly mindless idiots have got some hidden backup when she senses it. The threat of abhorrent metal and supersonic shockwaves tearing at flesh and bone.

_That is not how I fight._

The realization gnaws at her, at once annoying and unnerving, although she’s known all the while it would be a matter of time, she had still hoped to be done with this farce before any of the gang members saw the situation clearly enough to pull a gun. Again, if it was just her, Kagura probably hadn’t felt this _something resembling panic_ nudging at her consciousness, she’s more than alright at dodging bullets, but she’s painfully aware she can’t protect Tae from the explosive power of a gun.

Correction; _guns._ In plural. Now several of the goons who haven’t yet tasted Kagura’s fists or heels, are closing in on them with their weapons drawn. The leader, who’s got to his feet with one hand covering his bleeding nose, is one of them. He directs his gun at her, shaking, in triumph or fear, one can’t be too sure.

“That’s _it_ ,” he sneers, something akin to madness glinting in his bloodshot eyes, as Kagura pauses. “Your little fun ends here. Don’t try anything else, or Mrs. Pretty over there will taste a bullet, I’m not kidding.”

“I know you’re not,” Kagura sighs, holding her hands up placatingly. “It’s alright. I’m not gonna fight back, really. Whatever you want; I’ll give it to you.”

If the leader is taken aback by her sudden surrender, he covers it up quickly, laughing derisively.

“Who said we want anything from you? No, we’re well past the negotiation phase, sweetheart. Don’t you see?” He jerks his thumb in Tae’s direction. “At this point, we’re just gonna _take_ it.”

Tae stays still as two of the men grabs her by the arms and waist, stunningly calm, she looks not at them but at Kagura, who’s struggling to remain as balanced; she feels a tremble of inexorable agitation at the sight -- yet, she doesn’t move but stares into Tae’s gentle brown eyes, discerning the firm _don’t go do anything stupid, Kagura-chan._

To be fair, Kagura really tries her best to comply with that wish. She even lets a few of the lowlifes approach her, lowering her head in surrender and offering up her wrists for them to tie behind her back, and she would have -- really -- followed them _anywhere,_ done literally _anything;_ if she had known they’d let Tae go.

But they don’t, and that's why things go to the dogs.

One of the guys holding Tae, chuckling and panting in anticipation, produces a small knife from within his sleeve. The blade glistens dimly in the red light of the lanterns hanging low in the ceiling, attracting Kagura’s undivided attention as he drags it along the pale skin of Tae’s cheek, leaving a trail of dark red in its wake. _No._ That's it. That just _demolishes_ whatever good intentions Kagura might have once had, and she’s overrun by the certain, simple knowledge that all these people are going to die. There’s nothing left to do about it.

In fact, as she sinks into well-known fury, breath hitching in her throat and blood coursing with indomitable force through her veins; they’re already dead. She’s already moving, the rope at her wrists is ripped apart, the guy smelling like stale sweat next to her meets his fate with her next intake of air, the movement of her hand ending his life in a heartbeat. The next one is knocked over by a sidekick, her hand darting in to snatch the blade he’s been hiding in his boot, slicing his throat with it, clean and swift, and he falls over, gurgling, eyes wide with shock. Kagura doesn’t care. She’s already on her way towards the next one. _I’m gonna kill them all._

Except she doesn’t.

“You might wanna reconsider that, China.”

Absently aware that his voice alone has managed something other people haven’t succeeded with their fists, or lives, even; Kagura stops. _Thank fuck._ The red demon who’s been frantically clawing at her back takes flight and she’s back to being Kagura. Caught in the act, certainly, with blood streaming hotly down her arms and fingers, but still, just _Kagura,_ and that’s more of a relief than she’s ready to admit.

Okita doesn’t appear to be armed. In fact, he carries the air of an unruffled bystander who’s just happened to walk into a situation he finds mildly interesting; hands stuffed into the pockets of his black suit trousers and face an inscrutable mask. For some reason though, the leader drops his gun, squeaks, and flees. As a matter of fact, the gang members still standing all scramble for cover at the sight of him, while the air becomes a frantic buzz of random profanities and exclamations muttered in fear, along the lines of ‘it’s _him_ ,’ and ‘we should get the hell out of here’; although the guy in question isn’t even sparing them a glance. His dull gaze is directed at Kagura alone, and she’s well-versed in detecting the flickers beneath the facade by now. Tonight, the sparks in his eyes are of the kind to easily catch fire.

“Seems like your reputation precedes you,” Kagura observes with a shaky intake of air, brushing her disheveled hair from her face in order to meet his gaze. An almost-smile is playing on her lips. Briefly, because she has got more pressing concerns. _Tae._ “I don’t mind reconsidering, either, by the way. I’ve just got this small thing left to deal with.”

The guy with the knife freezes as Kagura zooms in on him, the knife precariously close to Tae’s throat, he stutters: “M-monster! Don’t come closer!”

“Oh. You’ve scared him, China.”

“I don’t wanna hear that from some asshole who sent the entire bunch running by showing his face,” Kagura remarks, shooting Okita a sidelong glare. “Exclusively.”

“About that,” Okita deadpans. “Can I really be held accountable for what’s being said about me in my absence? Urban legends have this way of forming themselves unbeknownst to the subject itself.”

“Urban legend, my ass,” Kagura snorts. “Didn’t you recently move here?”

“Who’s told you that? Have you been stalking me, China?”

“You wish, you--“

“SHUT UP!!!” Knife-guy snaps, his voice breaking with tension and hysteria. In a predictable, desperate attempt to save his own skin, he’s pressing the blade to Tae’s throat while he hauls her backward. “I _said_ , one step closer and she’s dead!!”

Okita sighs, looking over at the guy with a face that reads _if you wanna die so badly, I guess I’ll release you from your suffering._ “Honestly. Do you even know _who_ you’ve got your filthy hands on?”

“I-- who cares?! Stay back, I told you!” The guy’s shrieking, but he’s turning visibly pale now, and Okita shakes his head.

“I can’t believe I’m about to say this, but for this once, I guess you’re lucky to have run into me, and not the superintendent.”

“What are you talking about, he’s mine!” Kagura protests, clenching her fists, but doesn’t move; she’s still too aware of the blade at Tae’s neck, of what any reckless movement on her part might cause.

“Don’t be ridiculous, China. I’ve seen you fight. These things should be handled with delicacy and care.”

Okita pulls his gun fast enough for Kagura to be briefly reminded about his goddamn speed, to wonder, ever so fleetingly; what it would be like to fight him in earnest -- then a shot is fired. Just like that. The guy’s instantly howling in pain, he’s hit in the shoulder and his arm falls limply to his side, dropping the knife in the process of falling over and clutching at the bullet wound. Tae quickly sidesteps his grip, finally freed and safe, and Kagura simply stares, dumbstruck for a moment, then outraged.

“That’s delicacy and care?!” She bellows, and Okita shrugs in a _got the job done, didn’t I?-_ kind of way, before replacing the gun somewhere behind his back. Kagura tries not to think of where it goes but darts over to Tae, grabbing her by the shoulders.

“Are you okay, Anego? I’m so sorry, and this fucker… I don’t--“ Kagura turns to glare at said fucker, but he’s already walking off, apparently; his retreating frame flanked by black-clad, heavily armed squad team members filtering in, swiftly and efficiently wiping out the rest of the gang members. To be perfectly honest, Kagura doesn't have it in her to fully hate the new smell invading the club, it’s that metallic odor again, though cleaner this time around, as dangerous as ever, surely, but sharper and more organized. _Police._ Some guy, oh and it’s Yamazaki, comes up to her and Tae, wide-eyed and concerned, he’s probably wondering if they’re okay but it’s all a haze to Kagura at this point. She can’t stop staring after Okita, this peculiar feeling of relief battling with pent-up fury leaving her heart pounding furiously hard against her sternum.

“I’m alright, Kagura-chan. You can let me go.” She hears Tae say, as from a great distance, and she absent-mindedly looks down her bloody hands. They’re still gripping Tae’s shoulders, too hard, soiling the fabric of her dress. She looks up to see Tae smiling at her, reassuringly. “See? I’m fine. You’ve done enough.”

“But you’re hurt,” Kagura insists, referring to the wound at her cheek and she’s not sure, but pretty much everything else. “It’s all my fault.”

“No, don’t you worry, it’s not deep. I’m telling you, I’m gonna be fine. Kondou is on his way over, Yamazaki-san here tells me… that will be something of a circus, as you can imagine.” Tae grimaces, a faint frown playing over her face that is truly mostly ill-concealed fondness, then nods in the direction of the entrance. “You should go after him.”

_Him._

“I should, shouldn’t I,” Kagura sighs, biting her lip. A part of her wants to stay with Tae, to make sure that she’s alright and that nothing has changed between the two of them, and to stall what might happen if she does go after Okita in this state. Her blood is still running hot, and her head’s a proper mess, but then again, when is it ever a good time with him?

Tae merely nods, and Kagura feels, but firmly ignores, the mild amusement in the gaze directed at her back as she stalks out of the club. She’s leaving the noise and the chaos within for the comparatively calm street outside, relishing the chill night air’s way of ghosting over her skin for a moment, and there he is.

Just outside the entrance to the left, Okita stands leaning against the brick wall, head tipped back and gaze directed at the sky above. The city lights are playing with the shadows, illuminating his skin and the lightness of his hair, casting darkness across his forehead while bringing out the sharp angles of his profile, the length of his legs. _Great._ He’s fucking gorgeous, and Kagura’s momentarily hesitating; her heart and words caught in an undignified knot in her throat.

“… I’m--“

“Whatever you’re about to say,” Okita cuts her short, slanting her a sidelong glance. “I believe, first of all, a thank you is in order.”

**. . .**

tbc.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 🎧 [KSHMR - Do Bad Well (feat. Nevve)](https://youtu.be/w9fmq2lShHE/)
> 
> ♥️ because that is _obviously_ Kagura's song... Next chapter will be action, too, but of a different kind ;D


	7. troublemaker

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * indicates beginning/end of flashback

troublemaker

**. . .**

Okita must be off his rocker. _Like fuck_ she’s gonna say something like that. Kagura appreciates the tickle of anger, it’s like a beacon of light in the fog of temptation the bastard has managed to create by a single look; a hell lot easier to hold onto than the suggestion hanging heavy and trembling between them. 

“ _a thank you.”_

This game has been going on for too long. Really, he’s _delusional_ to think she’s coming to him on her knees. She wants some goddamn answers, is all, and on top of that her adrenaline levels are still through the roof, and if the bastard wants a kiss _so bad,_ she’ll give him one. If only to shut him up. If only to wipe that terribly smug look off of his face. Those kinds of reasons.

Kagura is aware that she’s also still a little drunk, and that it’s not doing her any favours in the higher cognitive process, but she’s obviously partial to moving on injudicious impulses rather than anything else; and she finds herself in front of him within the span of a heartbeat. _Damn,_ that’s closer than intended but that ceases to matter as she tilts her head up to face him. Okita actually looks a bit surprised, like her behaviour might not have been _exactly_ part of his calculations; but it’s a tiny crevice to his indolence.

“That’s a good look on you,” he’s saying, and Kagura is just sick and tired of him putting on such _an act._

“Shut up,” she breathes, steadying herself by reaching for the fading anger pouring heat to her hands and cheeks, gaining courage to reach for _him_ ; and there’s his face, and lips, all too ready to be kissed, but she likes to think it’s on her initiative, anyway. 

Because even if Kagura is initially fuelled by rage; longing to touch and be touched by this shithead is what takes precedence now. _Holy shit_ , his kisses are like water to her, she recognises her own thirst for them without flinching away, because she simply can’t any longer. How dare he, though. Turn up out of the blue and turn things entirely upside down. Kiss her like it’s all he’s ever wanted; hands all over her back, sliding up along the curve of her spine and the nape of her neck, warm and wanting and rid of that hateful indifference. This is him on the opposite side of the emotional spectrum; all fire, and she might hate him, but she sure doesn’t hate this.

 _Let’s be honest._ His lips and teeth are tickling a dormant want of hers, one she can’t control or smother, and she’s quite frankly lost her will to do anything about it. And Okita. Okita _wants_ her. She feels it in the way he’s holding on to her neck, deepening the kiss before grabbing her waist and twisting her around; urgently, to reverse their positions. _You wanna be the one kissing me into oblivion against a brick wall, huh?_ and Kagura doesn’t mind; she’s too aware of his want to be petty about such a thing, and if there’s also a shameful little part of her _really_ enjoying his roughness, it’s of no consequence as long as he’s like this. 

His unrestrained self is in the way he breaks the kiss, notably out of breath, only to latch on to her neck and lick-bite his way up to her ear. In the process he’s reflexively grinding against her, revealing an unmistakable hardness between his legs. It makes Kagura light-headed, and so _hot_ , there’s a thrill of pulsating want deep at her centre at the thought of reaching down; pulling him out, and-- 

Someone gives an awkward little cough nearby and her eyes flutter open.

There’s Yamazaki. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb! I- - I’m really sorry, really,” he apologises in a rush, taking great care not to look directly at them but keeping his gaze pointedly averted, body language conveying that he’d rather dig his own grave than be where he is right now. “I was just gonna give you the status report, boss. I-- I’m sorry.”

Okita sighs into Kagura’s neck before detangling himself from her with all the enthusiasm of someone being called back to work when they had just put their feet up on the sofa and cracked a beer. Kagura misses his warmth instantly, then wonders, somewhat absently; if this thing is commonplace for him? He doesn’t seem bothered at all by being seen making out with someone who’s got their hands bloodied to their elbows; from what is undoubtedly turning into a crime scene, and although she herself is by no means shy, she’s not half as brazen as that _._

“So what is it?” Okita adjusts his tie as he turns to Yamazaki, who almost jumps out of his own skin.

“What is what, sir?”

“That status report. You were gonna give it to me.” Okita’s voice is dropping one dangerous octave, breaking the monotone. “Or is that you wanna know my status? I’m sure you’ve been watching long enough to be able to figure it out but I don’t mind spelling it out for you, either.”

“That’s alright, boss. I don’t need to know that!” Yamazaki intercepts hurriedly, eyes wide with trepidation as he looks over at Kagura, briefly. She’s still flustered, but perfectly capable of pushing off the wall to give him a mildly accusing look, making him, if possible, go even paler. Under literally any other circumstances, she would have felt sorry for him. “I-- I mean, we have them all rounded up and counted for, sir. No one got away, and I dare say--” he pauses to clear his throat, gathering up the courage to look at Okita at last. “I believe it’s one or two of those we’ve been monitoring.”

“You don’t say,” Okita scoffs, in amusement, or triumph, Kagura can’t quite tell, but what Yamazaki’s saying is obviously of some satisfaction, because he’s letting him off the hook. Just like that, with a shrug and a half-smile. “That’s good. Tell Harada to bring the car over.”

“Yes, sir,” Yamazaki looks beyond relieved. “Are you going back to the station?”

“We are,” Okita says, inclining his head in Kagura’s direction. “I have a witness to interrogate.”

~

Kabukichō looks different from the backseat of a police car. Kagura is so used to the neon lights, the colours dancing sleeplessly amidst shops and restaurants and love hotels; countless cabaret clubs and streets milling with people hungry for the many pleasures of the night; she’s stopped thinking about how it looks from the outside. Regardless if she’s in the midst of the bustle, or just above it; on some roof, scanning the incessant activity of the red-light district, she’s always thought of it as the heart of Tokyo, a slightly unruly part of the city she calls home. Looking out the window of the car now, it seems unfamiliarly distant and dark in spite of the lights, forbidden in the way Eden is; complex by its sheer nature, and she wonders. 

_Is this how you see Kabukichō?_

She glances over at Okita. Surprisingly, he’s gotten in the back with her, letting the bald officer called Harada drive. There’s barely a two feet distance between them where he sits looking out the opposite window, but for some reason the distance seems greater than that. It’s too dark in the car for Kagura to be able to gauge anything from his shadowed profile alone, but knowing him, there is probably nothing to be seen. 

_Why am I here?_

No matter how calmly she’s been trying to assess her situation, to find a reason as to _why_ she unhesitatingly went along with a certain DCI Okita -- one that isn’t either fake or _entirely_ mortifying -- she’s coming to a stumbling standstill each time. Which makes the irrefutable truth of her circumstances even more blatant, probably. She’s been, figuratively speaking, thinking with her dick, and there’s that. _Goddamnit,_ Kagura mentally facepalms. This is her being human. Human as can be, in fact. She should be happy about that, she supposes, but somehow she finds it difficult to rejoice right now. 

So, she’s attracted to this bastard sitting next to her looking like a modern, sexy version of Sherlock Holmes; she’s long past denying that. Goodness knows he’s not bad-looking, she’s been aware of his long lashes and broad shoulders and _perfectly_ shaped ass since day one, and the way he smells appeals to her in all sorts of ungodly ways, but. _But._ She’s been attracted to people before without her head turning into a godawful minefield; waging war with her body for no fathomable reason and making her second guess her own capability of keeping it together.

And, like that, she’s back to chalking it up to sexual frustration. Truth is, ever since she got Gin-chan, her activity in that certain department has gone from spontaneous and very indulgent, to scheduled and very brief. Lately, she hasn’t really kept in touch with any of the lovers she’s got scattered across town. There hasn’t been time. What with everything happening recently, and Okita… 

_Fuck._

He’s thrown her off her game, and she doesn’t quite know how to handle it. Which _also_ makes her perfectly human. It doesn’t matter that Okita is entirely wrong for her, and probably more trouble than he’s worth, it’s a great part of human nature to want what you can’t have, right? _Gotta be happy about the small things._ Kagura rolls her eyes at herself: she's going in circles. In the end, she breaks the silence because she can’t bear thinking about any of it any longer.

“Oi, dickhead,” she says, point-blank. “Am I arrested?”

“If you were, I’d have to give you the grounds for that arrest.” Okita turns to look at her, expressionless. “I have yet to decide what to do with you but for now, you can view yourself as a valuable witness”

“A valuable witness,” Kagura repeats dryly, narrowing her eyes. She doesn’t particularly like his tone but she realises she could probably use this opportunity to get some long overdue information herself _._ Yeah, _that’s_ a pretty valid reason to be in this car, come to think of it. “Gods, you’re so not a smooth talker. And your _witness_ is probably not as pliable as you think--“ she catches a glint in Okita’s eyes, visible by the lights of a passing car. “She knows the flow of intel needs to go both ways in order to be of any use.”

“Does she now.”

“She does.”

Okita chuckles; and the sound grates on Kagura's nerves, but it’s also pouring a bit of heat to her stomach, though she firmly ignores the latter. 

“Alright. What do you wanna know?” 

_Huh?_ His sudden compliance throws her for a loop, her brain doing a sort of micro-shutdown before it’s up and running again, sharp and curious. 

“Why did you come to the club?”

“Work. I’m with the police, remember?” Okita scoffs, softly. “It’s my job breaking up fights, arresting bad guys, investigating shady business and so forth. You should know this.”

“I _do,_ let’s skip the condescension. I’m not gullible enough to believe you’re the only police officer in town, though. Kabukichō alone is under enough surveillance to occupy hundreds of your sort.”

“‘My sort’, is it?” Okita snorts, but there is something like a smile touching his voice. “For a civilian, you’re pretty well informed, aren’t you? Well, I’ll give you this. I happen to be working on a case involving those guys attacking you and Shimura back at the club. They’re hardly the biggest fish in the pond but they do run errands for someone higher up the food chain… someone who’s difficult to find. Someone I’d like to talk to.”

“Okay, so…” Kagura frowns, wondering if this is about the case ’off the record’ Yamazaki was alluding to, or an official investigation, or some kind of merge between the two. “If you knew these guys were connected to… _them_ , then why didn’t you pull them in sooner?”

Okita shrugs.

“Hadn’t got enough concrete evidence to question them.”

“Until now,” Kagura finishes for him, feeling unreasonably offended. “So, what went down tonight gave you the perfect opportunity to make some arrests, huh? How very convenient.”

“Please. I couldn’t know you were to pick a fight with some random yakuza, could I?” Okita says impassively and Kagura is sure beyond doubt he’s lying through his teeth. She crosses her arms over her chest, giving him a sceptical look.

“Why do you assume _I_ picked a fight with them?” 

“I must. If it was the other way around I’d have to investigate any reason for them to have picked a fight with _you._ It seems strange that they would, but…”

So he does know more than he lets on.

“I get it,” Kagura sighs, steeling herself. “Have you been keeping track of me?”

“Really,” Okita’s face is illuminated by car lights again, only long enough for Kagura to pick up on the gentle upward turn of his mouth, the malice flashing by his eyes. “Why do you assume this is about you?” 

Kagura bites the inside of her lip, hard; swallowing down a snippy comeback. Has she misread things? Why’s her chest tightening at the idea that she’s been led by the nose this entire time, that this conversation that _she_ initiated is only designed for his amusement.

“Kondou-san has his ways of keeping track of his girl, let’s just say that.” Okita continues. “You’re better off not knowing.”

Kagura huffs, shaking her head. “I’d appreciate it if you let me be the judge of that. Still, if you knew shit was going down, why didn’t you come sooner? I was--“

She pauses, searches for Okita’s gaze in the dark of the cab, deciphers intense red and goes on; brazenly.

“I was killing people in there.”

“Yeah. And how was that?”

Kagura stills. Her heart is making a slow sort of roll inside of her chest, dull and hard; it’s almost painful in its way of reacting. There’s something in Okita’s voice that has changed, far from being impassive; there’s a hot edge to it. Like he’s dying to know.

“What do you mean?” She asks, silently. Very much in control of herself and not hyper aware of the fact that he’s been shifting, and is now sitting right next to her, mouth indecently close to her ear. 

“I mean. How _was_ that?” He repeats hoarsely, not a trace of shame connected to the inquiry, and Kagura hates herself for shivering but of course she does.

“Terrible.”

“Liar.”

“I’m not lying,” Kagura objects impulsively, then takes a breath to consider, and for some reason; goes on to tell him something horribly sincere. “I just… I lost it there for a bit.”

The admission sparks fire to her entire face, and she has to look away from Okita’s appraising eyes, can’t stand looking at him for another second, and there’s his hand on her thigh. Heavy, warm, evocative.

“Yeah, you did,” Okita agrees, and there’s a warmth to his tone, like he’s _praising_ her for being truthful, that Kagura really ought to hate but doesn’t -- _why is it this way with you?_ \-- and to hell with everything, right. Okita is obviously capable of bringing out the worst in her but all that she can think of is that hand, travelling now, slowly, stroking heat along the inside of her thigh. “So how did you feel about it?”

“I wasn’t feeling…” Kagura starts, but Okita cuts her off with a gentle shake of the head.

“ _Stop_. You were. Feeling something.” Kagura tries not to gasp as his hand, without premonition, sneaks all the way in to where her legs meet; pressing down softly over the fabric of her trousers. “Tell me.”

Setting her jaw, Kagura shakes her head. This is no good. What would the guy driving see if he’d look in the rear view mirror--

“He won’t,” Okita tells her, flatly, and as if on cue: Harada turns up the volume on the radio and adjusts the mirror in a different angle, away from them. His head is facing forward, unflinching. “Please, China.”

Kagura bites her lip. The low but pregnant urgency in Okita’s voice is frankly bringing about as many sweet, cottony feelings trickling through her as his hand, touching her lightly, lightly through the fabric of her trousers. Her “ _what?”_ comes out shamefully breathy, as she struggles not to wriggle around, not to press her hips forward, and stay still as can be in her seat.

“Just _tell me_ ,” Okita says again, moving on to kiss her neck. “How did you feel?”

It’s not even close to fair. Whether he knows it or not, he’s currently all over her weak spots. Quite literally. His breath blowing warmth over her neck, teeth raking the soft, sensitive patch of skin just under her ear, the unsaid, forbidden connotation of his words; it’s causing want to unfurl like wildfire to her centre; where his fingers are shamelessly doing their magic, infuriatingly light, so exactly on the spot, rubbing circles and putting pressure _just there, goddamnit._ It’s driving Kagura crazy how fast and nimbly he’s gotten her this hot, and seeing how she’s already bitten off more than she can possibly chew… she might as well tell him. 

“ _Good,”_ she relents, quietly, hoarsely. “I felt bloody good. Happy now?”

“Mm.”

Okita demonstrates how happy he is by slipping his hand up and past the waistband of her trousers; fingers coming down to tease at the front of her underwear instead, cupping her _way too gently,_ and Kagura’s burning. With embarrassment; because he must be feeling how _wet_ she is through the thin fabric, with want; because his mouth is on hers again, hungry and urgent. _Fuck this bastard for stirring me up like this._ She needs to win back some territory, and what she really wants is to straddle him but she can’t very well do that in a police car. Or, she _could_ but, no.

No.

Kagura makes an effort to focus on anything apart from Okita’s irksomely slow-moving fingers, trying to tear her mind from its primal mantra of _please please please touch me properly,_ by breaking the kiss and asking him: “What about you?”

“What about me?” Okita groans, trying to catch her lips again, but she tilts her head sideways.

“What did you… _hnnn…”_ His fingers slip under her underwear and Kagura’s head lolls back against the headrest, a silent gasp preventing any more words from getting out.

“…feel?” Okita finishes for her, hot breath washing over her cheek.

“ _Yeah.”_

“I felt it.” 

His other hand catches her wrist, and he places her hand over the pulled-taut fabric at the front of his slacks, letting her know exactly how he felt, and feels in this now. A surge of indomitable need is coursing through Kagura, catching her unawares by its sheer force, but she can’t possibly shut it down now. She’s aching for him and the reason they’re in this bloody car is getting increasingly difficult to understand, _why_ really-- 

”This is us,” Okita says before she has the time to voice her impatience or push him away out of fear of losing it, and Harada pulls the car over by the sidewalk at the MPD headquarters entrance. 

_Thank you, Enma_. As Kagura wordlessly gets out of the car and follows Okita inside the building, the flame between them is ever-present, like an invisible red string between her wrist and his, tying them together.

  
  
  


~

As expected, Tae is brushing off all her attempts at apologizing. Kagura is left muted and resigned by her bedside, with a cup of hot coffee brought to her by Shinpachi and a residual sense of guilt she has trouble shaking whatever Tae says. She _does_ look fine, though, and Kagura suspects it’s solely to appease her brother that she’s still in bed. Under the bandage covering her left cheek, there’s a glow to her skin, a brightness in her eyes that Kagura decidedly feels wasn’t there yesterday.

“You look suspiciously perky for someone who, through no fault of their own, got into a big nasty fight only last night.” Kagura says with one eyebrow raised, sipping at her coffee. “Did something happen?”

“That big policeman brought her back.”

Kagura turns to see Shinpachi grumble from the door frame. The only visible parts of him; half of his face and a hand clutching at the door, are terribly dark, forehead reminiscent of a rain cloud.

“In the _morning,_ ” he clarifies in a doomsday kind of voice when Tae rolls her eyes, and Kagura lets out a low whistle.

“Wow, Anego. You and Gori, really…”

“I must advise you to stop right there, Kagura-chan,” Tae admonishes with one of her most deadly smiles; sweet as honey, sharp as a knife. “I had some unfinished business with that gorilla, is all.”

“Indeed.” Kagura grins, why, she can’t help herself. Tae clicks her tongue. 

“Yes, Kagura-chan. I take it you had business to take care of as well, last night. Or was going off with Okita-san merely a pleasure trip?”

_Bull’s eye. What do I say?_

Kagura is saved by the bell. That is to say: Gin-chan, who chooses exactly that moment to waddle inside the room and pounce on her, all happy mischief and mud-sticky hands; sending the coffee cup flying. Normally, Kagura would have let the cup just drop; or better yet, it wouldn’t have happened at all because she would’ve sensed Gin-chan’s dubious intent long before he’d gotten this far. Today isn’t normal, though. Today she’s all frayed nerves and a slightly distracted mind leaving her reflexes in charge, and before she knows it, she’s making a leap for that cup. It’s swirling precariously in the air for a moment, just about to splash; when she expertly brings it back to ground level, not a drop spilled, landing softly on her feet in a crouch. Like a cat. Looking into Tae’s eyes. _Shit._ Gin-chan applauds her enthusiastically, Shinpachi gapes. 

“I--” she starts, but Tae shakes her head. 

“Are _you_ okay, Kagura-chan?”

“What? Of course I am,” Kagura says, averting her eyes. She reaches for Gin-chan and hauls him in before he has the time to run off again. “I just need a good night’s sleep, is all.”

“Kagura…”

“And some food. Damn, I could eat a horse. What do you say, Gin-chan? Wanna go for ramen?”

“Fine,” Tae sighs, seemingly ready to drop the subject, but then adds: “About last night. I trust you know that you don’t have to tell me about any of it. If you ever feel the urge to do so however… You know where to find me.”

“Yeah,” Kagura takes a breath, feeling oddly pierced by the subtle kindness in those words, she’s glancing over at Tae from under her fringe. “I know.”

“Good. Now please stop fretting about it. You saved me. That’s all that matters to me.”

~

It’s not until late that evening, back from a night time walk with Sadaharu, Gin-chan is snugly tucked into bed, and she’s simply run out of things to occupy her hands and mind with, that Kagura’s defensive walls begin to crumble. The apartment is quiet apart from Gin-chan and Sadaharu’s combined snores, and a siren, wailing in the distance; but the faraway bustling sounds of the city are more like a familiar lullaby than a disturbance by now. 

In any case, they’re not to blame for her state of sleeplessness. 

Kagura goes where she usually goes when she can’t sleep. The deep windowsill above the couch must have been designed to host night time ponderers, she thinks, as she crawls up there, making a little nest of cushions and blankets around her body. She hugs her knees close to her chest, and _breathes._ The iniquitous echoes and small sparks which have been skimming the outskirts of her consciousness all day are immediately there, begging for entrance and permission to wreak havoc inside her head. _Go easy on me,_ she sighs into her knees, directing her gaze at the night sky outside the window. Stars are scattered across the dark ceiling, unusually clear.

Memories of last night are seeping past her lowered guard effortlessly; she can all but feel Okita’s breath against her skin, his want and hers, mingled together in a desperate mess, way too hot, and inevitable. At this point, Kagura is ready to admit at least as much, although her chest is tightening up in a way that is downright terrible at the thought, like she can’t get enough air into her lungs for a beat, and still. _I liked it._ She likes the fact there is apparently no way to tame the fire between them that doesn’t involve either fists or kisses. She likes the way he touches her. She likes the way he talks to her. With a shaky intake of air, she closes her eyes to the memory of him, speaking words she won’t forget into her skin. 

*

“You wanna know a secret, China?”

She pulls back, searching for answers amidst the need, recognises that lazy swirl of heated emotions within his gaze, but no clarity. 

“What?”

“I lied, before. It’s all about you.” 

**. . .**

tbc. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 🎧 7: [Gabriel Rios – Gold (Thomas Jack Radio Edit)](https://youtu.be/V4SkIxrYPPU/)
> 
> ♥️ Kagura’s in deep sh*t.


End file.
